


Anchor Me ( Back Down)

by HaveAGoodeDay



Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Apocalypse
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, F/F, Heavy Angst, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pregnancy, Shameless Smut, Witchcraft
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-16
Updated: 2019-04-04
Packaged: 2019-08-24 10:03:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 33,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16637849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HaveAGoodeDay/pseuds/HaveAGoodeDay
Summary: "N-not just that." The wild blonde's voice cracks, "You really like takin' care of your girls, Dee. And sure, that includes me but-""But what?""Do you wanna baby, Miss 'Delia?"___The road to parenthood is a long one filled with many bumps, but Cordelia and Misty can weather it together.Based on the theory Mallory is their daughter from the future.





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> Hello foxxay readers! 
> 
> This story is brought to you by AngelicRabe and I, born of the theory Mallory is Misty and Cordelia's child from the future. It's better a explanation then what Ryan gave us. It will be a long journey. 
> 
> Please enjoy this first chapter, and thank you for reading.

  
The white light of their Christmas tree shines across the room, the Academy adorned in festive red, green, and golden garland wrapped around each pillar. In the common room, over fifteen stockings hang closely together on the fireplace.  
  
Cordelia carefully opens one and drops in a bundle of sage, a few bottles of bright nail polish and a bar of chocolate-  
  
"Wait!" Misty's hurried whisper makes her jump, the oversized red sock leaving her grip. "That's Jessie's stockin', Dee. No nuts."  
  
Corrected, Cordelia nods in agreement, reaching in to pull out the candy and takes the Skittles Misty hands over to replace it. Standing so close to the fire, her legs feel too warm underneath flannel pajama pants. Reindeer-patterned fabric clinging to her skin. Misty's record player spins Christmas carols instead of Stevie, for once.  
  
She's too busy, filling another stocking to notice the swamp witch's approach until it's too late. Hands coming to rest on the dip of the Supreme's hips. Misty's voice vibrates against the shell of Cordelia's ear, sending chills through her, "Merry Christmas, 'Delia."  
  
Leaning back into the younger blonde's chest, she admires their handy work. The presents from Santa all under the tree, the stockings filled, and the cookies eaten. "Merry Christmas, Mist."  
  
Biting her lip, Misty wraps her arms around the other woman's middle, delighting in the squeak Cordelia lets out when she's pulled back toward the sofa. Her weight falls into Misty's lap when the Cajun's knees hit the couch, plopping down and taking her with her.  
  
"We sure make good 'lil elves, don't we?" Misty's smirk is joyful, the reflection of string lights dancing across blue-grey irises when Cordelia turns to properly face her; without leaving her lap, though.  
  
"A great team." Cordelia seconds, eyes roaming over the faint blush coloring Misty's cheeks. Have yourself a Merry Little Christmas turns over into White Christmas, and Cordelia hums the opening notes and presses her forehead to the woman's in front of her. Above them, in the bedrooms upstairs, the sound of feet tapping on the hardwood is hard to miss.  
  
Misty laughs, her head tilting up to look at the ceiling, "Should we tell 'em to go to sleep?"  
  
Cordelia shakes her head,  "They never will, anyway."  
  
"Too excited for Sant-y claus." Misty drawls out, "I'd be too, given how pretty she is."  
  
Cordelia smacks her shoulder, her own smile matching Misty's as she watches the younger woman giggle beneath her.   The length of Misty's neck is inviting, Cordelia's lips pressing into the pulse found there as she states, "Mrs. Claus isn't too bad, herself."  
  
Something between a sigh and a moan breaks from between Misty's lips. The hitch in her breath, the slide of her palms down Cordelia's legs. "Stop teasin' me, 'Delia."  
  
"Still impatient for presents, huh?"  
  
Cordelia relents at her lover's pout, leaning forward to press her open mouth against Misty's slightly parted one. They both taste of sugar and eggnog, Cordelia biting down on Misty's lower lip and dragging it with her slightly when they part.  
  
As with every time (no matter how many times) Cordelia kisses her, Misty looks at her with a sense of wonder. Face flushed and chest raising and falling a little faster.  
  
"You're such a good person, Miss 'Delia."  
  
"Ah, ah." Cordelia tuts, hand intertwining with Misty's. It's a little awkward, how they fit together from it being Cordelia's left hand slotting together with Misty's left. But the tap of their rings together makes up for it, "Mrs. 'Delia, now."  
  
The poor imitation of her accent has Misty giggling again, happily letting Cordelia work her hands under her sweater, running across her ribcage.  
  
"You really are." Misty backtracks, her voice merry as she continues, "You might be the most carin' person I ever met."  
  
"You say that because I give you orgasms." Cordelia teases. The embarrassed look that passes over Misty's face is enjoyable.  
  
"N-not just that." The wild blonde's voice cracks, "You really like takin' care of your girls, Dee. And sure, that includes me but-"  
  
"But what?"  
  
"Do you wanna baby, Miss 'Delia?"  
  
The question isn't expected, Cordelia's lips freezing as they go to explore Misty's  neck and exposed chest. Her fingers twitch against the younger witch's stomach and she stops - really _stops_ \- to process the inquiry.  
  
"A baby?" The supreme repeats, after letting the quiet pause embrace their conversation for a moment. At Misty's nod, she speaks so low, it might as well be whispered, "I can't have children, Misty."  
  
"But I can." Misty blurts out, finally saying what she's thought over for months, since their second anniversary; the idea swirling in her head since one of the girls dropped in for a visit with a little boy attached to her hip. The swamp witch had never thought of herself carrying a child - she had made a bad habit of giving away her life-force and struggled to keep it in her body. It would be so worth it though, to see Cordelia as a _mom_ . She's quiet, she tells her wife, "I can have a baby. Our baby."  
  
Cordelia's face is a mix of shock, awe and hopefulness she crushes herself (something the older woman has become good at) when she tells Misty, "It won't really be ours."  
  
"But it _can_ ."  
  
"How?" Cordelia's question is a little broken a little sad as she spares a look at Misty's expression.  
  
The Cajun is smiling, although a bit watery, "You're the Supreme, 'Delia, if anyone can do it, it's ought to be you."

 

* * *

 

 

"You want to ask Kyle _what_ ?"  
  
Zoe's shocked expression, her mouth hanging open and her fingers frozen against the corner of the papers she's grading. Her office, admittedly smaller than Cordelia's, still boasts in it's grandest with every trophy and picture hung on the white walls.  
  
Cordelia looks at them, instead of Zoe when she explains, " I wanted to ask Kyle if he'd be willing to donate..."  
  
The word stops on the edge of her tongue, like it's too heavy to jump off. Building herself up, the blonde forces out, " _Sperm_ to Misty and I."  
  
Zoe's eyes widen.  
  
"Does this mean - you and Misty - you're going to have a _baby_ ?"  
  
"Well, we're trying but-"  
  
Cordelia's breath is knocked out of her, sentence trailing off as Zoe's form suddenly jumps up and rushes into her's. The quickness takes the Supreme by surprise, her mind catching up as she arms come around to return the tight embrace.  
  
"That's so great!" Zoe gushes, "You both will be such good moms, I'm sure Kyle will say yes!" A bell rings through the intercom system, making Zoe groan and release Cordelia from her crushing congratulatory hug.  
  
"Thank you." Cordelia blushes, realizing their plan is actually going into motion. It's been a month (an entire month of research) since Christmas, and as the weather starts to warm for the spring and the birds return in anticipation of February; they're going to make a baby. As an afterthought, Cordelia makes sure to tell the younger witch, "Please keep this to yourself, I'm sure the girls would make a fuss and we don't even know if it'll work yet."  
  
"I won't tell anyone." Zoe assures, her smile still wide and excited, "But it will work, I know it."  
  
"Let's hope."

* * *

  
  
Cordelia had thought a lot about having a child. With Hank, without Hank, and then with Misty - but Misty went away and now she's back. She can see a little baby in her mind's eye. Little hands gripping onto wild blonde strands as Misty rocks them, Her own arms carrying the heavy weight of a little human all their own.  
  
Though, what sits in front of her is not something she ever thought about in her daydreams.  
  
Kyle's... donation sits in the glass bowl, the table neatly filled with all the ingredients. Crushed poppies, blackberry leaves, a black handled knife. Everything's set.  
  
Cordelia's hand shakes, unsteady as she takes a pinch of poppy, the minced petals soft against her fingertips as she shakes them off her hand into the bowl.  
  
"Facti sunt filii mei sanguine."  
  
The blackberry leaves receive a similar treatment, falling off her palm into the mixture. Though the greenhouse is always hotter than normal, it's temperature rises as the volume of her chant does,  
  
"Facti sunt filii mei sanguine."  
  
The knife is  cold though, when Cordelia picks up the metal and rests it on her palm. Preparing herself she starts, " Facct sunt filii-"  
  
The blade slices her skin, crimson blood swells from the wound and runs down her hand in rivets, her voice stays steady, "-Mei sanguine."  
  
Her blood dripping into the bowl sounds with the steady drop and eases into a thin pour, turning the mixture red. Bubbling, brewing as the glass of the bowl fogs with the heat. The magic in the air feels heavy, like humidity, and Cordelia collects up all her power and draws out the last -  
  
" _Facct sunt filii mei sanguine_ ."  
  
Something breaks, cracking under the weight off the spell. The mixture halts it's boil, and Cordelia pulls back her hand. Underneath her work, the work table is splintering down the middle. Her eyes look over the bowl.  
  
Three days. It has to sit for _three_ days.  
  
The longest three days of her life.

* * *

 

 

“Are you sure ‘bout this, Miss ‘Delia?”

 

The lighter in Cordelia’s hand flickers to life, tiny flame dancing in the darkness of their candlelit bedroom. The yellow, reds and pinks of all the wax pillars creating a circle around the bed burn steadily as the Supreme goes down the line lighting each one.

 

Misty, sitting cross legged on the bed in just her plain white bra and black sweatpants, eyes a nearby candle with worry, “This seems a ‘lil dangerous, don’t you think?”

 

“Don’t worry.” Cordelia reminds her, “Don’t think, Mist. Just relax.”

 

The simple request in accompanied by Cordelia climbing onto the mattress gently, her fingers going to run through Misty’s loose hair. The woodsy scent of pine incense fills their personal space.

 

“Remember what I told you?” Cordelia asks, biting her lip as Misty nods her confirmation. “Just think about the baby, okay?”

 

“ _Our_ baby.” Misty’s excitement coats the correction, the wild blonde almost bouncing in place as Cordelia leans forward. Whatever she’d been ready to say is smothered out; her eyes glued to the neckline of Cordelia’s loose button down, the thin material the only material she’s wearing.

 

The Cajun tilts her head to allow her wife more access when Cordelia’s mouth meets her neck, sucking little bruises into the paleness of her throat. Her pulse beats faster under the attention, breath hitching as Misty’s eyes flutter shut.

 

“That’s real nice, ‘Delia.” She speaks, a peasant hum following the words. Her lips fall open when the supreme’s kisses climb up to her jaw, back along her ear and then Cordelia uses her hand to bring Misty’s head angled down, joining their mouths together in a searing kiss that flames the burning feeling in both their lower bellies. “You think we’re ready now?”

 

“ _Honey_ ,” Cordelia coos, her own voice low and more raw than usual, “I’m just getting started.”  

 

“Oh.” Misty’s hips jump to meet the touch of Cordelia’s grip on her waistband, the fabric of her sweatpants dragging down her legs until they are low enough, the older blonde using her feet to kick them off and onto the end of the bed. “Whatcha gonna do, Dee?”

 

“This.” Cordelia tells her, leaving one more kiss on the younger woman’s lips, hands leading as she shifts down Misty’s body, pressing her mouth onto the curve of her breasts, over the swell of her chest. Her tongue runs down Misty’s stomach, causing the muscles to jump underneath it.

 

Sighing at each lingering touch, Misty reclines onto the bed and spreads her legs eagerly, watching with hooded eyes and panting breath as Cordelia settles on her stomach in between Misty’s knees. The air buzzes with Cordelia’s power - Misty can’t ever get over that. Whenever the supreme performs any little magical act, the very atoms around they woman shake and rattle around as if being shocked by her very presence.

 

She also can’t get over _that-_ The first warm press of Cordelia’s tongue against her center. It makes her legs shake and her head spin, makes her lungs beg for air and her hands plea for something to hold onto so she doesn’t float away.

 

The thing they grab is Cordelia’s hair, gripping the straight blonde strands tightly and keeping her mouth right _there._ The older witch’s name tumbles from the swamp witch’s lips like a prayer of Cordelia, _Cordelia,_ **_Cordelia._ **

 

Her body shudders and the fire burns like the candlelight dancing around them (like Cordelia’s tongue against her) and pulls a little too hard, a little too rough on the older woman’s hair. It’s her tell, Cordelia smiles against her and works harder, quicker as she feels her twitch beneath ever motion.

 

The dam bursts, Misty’s back bows and she whines “Cor- _delia_ ” with each tremor of heat through her body. Fireworks  splatter across the black of her eyelids as she squeezes them shut.

 

When she does open them again, Cordelia is already sitting up, a smug smirk on her lips along with the glint of Misty’s wetness spread down her chin. The younger witch’s chest moves faster, grander in each deep breath as she breathes out, “That was amazing.”

 

“Ready now?” Cordelia questions, her hand going to grab the empty syringe. It’s intimidating image has Misty wanting to close her legs, but her wife’s free palm smooths over the expanse of her inner thighs.

 

Reaching for the bowl, her hands cup the warm glass with careful thought out movements as she brings it toward Cordelia. The reddish liquid sloshes in its container. Cordelia pushing all the air out of the syringe before placing the tip into the mix.

 

Her hands hold the tube steady and Cordelia gently grabs the bottom with her teeth, pulling it up and up until it’s _full._

 

“The words.” Cordelia prompts her. The visual of her action causing Misty a moment of blanking to remember the spell, the latin coming off her tongue with the methodical practice she’d been doing since Cordelia had told her them.

 

“Hoc candid - shit- Candida?” Misty’s face, already flushed burns as Cordelia listens intently to her mess up the incantation. Her eyes water, “I’m sorry I just-”

 

Cordelia holds the syringe to the side, brushing the curly blonde hair from her face, the wisps sticking to her neck with sweat. Her eyes ( _gosh,_ Misty _loves_ her eyes) sparkle with the same emotion they’d held on all their important moments. Their first kiss, their first time, their wedding day;  Misty’s sure that must be what **love** looks like.

 

“You’re doing great, Mist.”

 

“ _Really?”_

 

“Yes.” Cordelia taps the end of her nose with her fingertip, bringing a smile to both their faces, “C’mon, more intent.”

 

Misty wets her lips, prepares it all in her head and delicately chants,

 

_“hoc candida cursus Luna negat vita crescere et.”_

 

Cordelia spares her one last glance, watching Misty until the younger woman’s eyes fall shut and her head pushes back against the pillows. Her voice carries on though, as the supreme moves the medical tool in between her legs.

 

_“A puero est, quod in me scio.”_

 

Her little gasp has Cordelia guilty, free hand coming up to aid in the process. The shocked vocals turn over into pleasant ones, and she continues.

yes

“ _Felicitatem, salutem et multos habet_.”

 

Biting her lip, the older blonde pushes, basks in the image of Misty squirming against the bed sheets, her hair fanned out and her fingers clinging to the silk below.

 

_“Tenebo hanc puer brachium meum sustinebunt.”_

 

The candles that lit the room all blow out in one go, Misty’s last syllable timed with the sudden darkness of the room. The howl of wind coming from nowhere rushing past them. Cordelia barely can see Misty in the pale moonlight. Except she can - faintly - the wash of lust of her face. It must be mirrored by her own. The Cajun is the one who breaks the trance.

 

“Make _love_ to me, Miss Cordelia.”

 

Her finger pull at her lover’s shirt, buttons popping off and bouncing across the floorboards. Hands snaking through to touch and feel. Cordelia quickly rids her hands of the syringe, finding better use for them to take its place.

 

Misty grunts, her eyes rolling back and her fingers going to touch her wife with the same vigor.

 

“I love you.” Cordelia murmurs, the bedframe hitting the wall as she pushes her bodyweight into each movement, “ I love you _I-love-you-I_ **_love_ ** _you.”_

 

Misty stiffens against her, a choked moan that sounds like her name echoing in the room. Cordelia buries her face in the curve of her neck, breathing in the fragrance of her smell of her vanilla shampoo and crying out at  her own orgasm racking through her.

 

Both of their chests press against each other, sticky with sweat. Hands are taken away but stay touching, caressing in a post-sex glow.

 

“I love ya, too, Dee.”

 

This woman below her, this amazing witch, the love of her _life_ is everything she ever needed and she’s here, giving her everything she ever _wanted._ Cordelia wraps her arms around Misty’s neck, her words only slightly muffled by the other woman’s hair,

 

“Thank you.”

  
  


 


	2. Two

Cordelia woke with a start, rolling over onto her back and reaching out for her wife, only for her hand to brush against her pillow. She moved to sit up, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes and glancing around the room.

“Misty?” she called out, pushing the comforter down and swinging her legs over the side of the bed. Walking over to the slightly open door, she pulled it open and looked into the vacant hallway.

“Mist?” she repeated, walking to the closed bathroom door. She turned the handle and was surprised to find it locked.

“Misty, sweetheart, are you alright?”

“Yeah, Delia, I’m fine, I’ll be out in a sec,” Misty replied, a slight croak in her voice.

“Okay, well I’m gonna get breakfast started. Come find me when you’re done,” Cordelia said, her brows furrowing with worry.

Making her way to the kitchen downstairs, she let her thoughts wander to her wife.

_Is she getting sick?_

Cordelia sighed, feeling anxiety coursing through her at the thought. Attempting to banish the feeling, she shook her head and reached to get the eggs out of the refrigerator. Grabbing a pan, she turned on the stove. She thought of what needed to be accomplished that day while making breakfast.

_We have to get groceries, and do laundry, and-_

Her thoughts were interrupted by footsteps as her wife entered the kitchen.

“Hey, Mist,” she said, smiling as she stirred the scrambled eggs. She looks really pale.”Did you sleep okay last night?”

Misty opens her mouth to speak, but wrinkles her nose and turns on her heel, running back down the hallway to the empty bathroom. Cordelia leans forward to turn off the stove and races after her wife.

In the bathroom she finds Misty kneeling before the toilet, throwing up. Without a second of hesitation, she’s by her wife’s side, holding her blonde curls in one hand and rubbing comforting circles into her back with another.

After a minute, Misty pulls her head up and flashes Cordelia a weak smile. It makes Cordelia’s heart break just a little. She reaches to flush the toilet and close the lid, pulling Misty up so that she’s sitting on top of it.

“Are you okay?” she asks, cupping her cheek with her hand and looking into the watery blue eyes.

“Oh, I’m alright, ’Dee. The smell of those eggs just did somethin’ funny to my stomach,” she replied, smiling at her wife. She stood up to rinse her mouth out at the sink.

“Well.. alright. Maybe you should go lay down for a little while, I could bring you some toast or water or something?” Cordelia asked, making eye contact with her wife in the mirror. Misty twirled around, her eyes lighting up.

“Ya know what sounds _amazin_ ’, Delia?” she asked, a smile growing on her face.

“What’s that?”

“Those banana pancakes you make sometimes,” Misty replied, moving to Cordelia and putting her palms on her shoulders, stroking down the length of her arms.

“Really? But you were just sick,” Cordelia said, eyeing Misty skeptically.

“They sound so good right now, though.”

“Hm. Okay, well you go lay down and I’ll make some for you, sweetheart,” she said, bringing her hand up to Misty’s face and stroking her cheekbone with the pad of her thumb.

“Thank ya darlin’,” she said, pressing a kiss against her forehead and walking out of the bathroom.

That was _weird_.

Cordelia exited the bathroom and walked back to the kitchen, scraping the eggs into the garbage disposal and running it. Something felt off, something in the air. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it. She thought about how Misty rarely gets sick, and how strange it is for her to have thrown up at just the smell of eggs.

_Maybe she’s pregnant._

Cordelia shook the thought out of her head and slammed her eyes shut. She couldn’t take the pain of false hope again.

* * *

 

Cordelia brought the stack of warm banana pancakes up to their room, pushing open the door and shutting it behind her.

“Mist, baby, your pancakes are ready,” she said, glancing over at her wife who had fallen asleep in the middle of the bed, comforter pulled under her chin. Cordelia’s heart warmed as she set the plate down and climbed under the blankets, pressing her body next to her wife’s. She slipped her cold fingers under her shirt and dragged them up her muscular back. Misty woke with a shiver.

“Dee, ya hands are always so cold,” she mumbled groggily.

“Lucky I’ve got you to warm me up then, huh?”

Misty giggled and turned to face her wife, wrapping one arm around her middle and pulling her close, resting her chin on the top of her head.

“Did ya bring pancakes?”

Cordelia laughed and pressed her lips again her throat, pulling away from Misty’s warm embrace.

“I did.”

Misty sat up with a smile and took the plate Cordelia offered to her. Within several minutes the large stack was gone.

“Those were so good, ‘Dee,” Misty said, reclining against the mountain of pillows behind her.

“I’m glad you liked them.”

Misty smiled at her and motioned for her to come closer. Cordelia laughed and crawled closer to her wife. In the morning light breaking through the drapes, each little freckle across the bridge of Misty’s nose clearly stands out against her skin tone, along with the pancake crumbs clinging to the corners of the younger witch’s lips; Held on with sweet maple syrup Cordelia can practically taste on her breath.

“You missed a little,” She murmurs, leaning forward to kiss away the sugary mess. Her eyes drift shut and she lets the little affectionate moment take all her worries away for the time being. Then she backs off, looking at Misty’s happy, satisfied grin. “All clean.”

“What are we doin’ today Delia?” Misty asked, leaning forward and placing her chin in her hands, looking into her wife’s deep brown eyes.

“Well, we need to go grocery shopping,” she said, scooting to the edge of the bed, she swinging her legs over the side and stretched, popping her back in a series of loud cracks.

“Alrighty. Let me just change my clothes and we can get goin’.”

Cordelia looked at her wife, watching her stand up and move to pull open the door to their walk in closet and pull a shirt off of a hanger.

_How did I get so lucky?_

Finally pulling herself off of the bed, she moved to the dresser and started picking out her clothes for the day. After pulling her shirt up and over her head, she felt warm hands slip around her waist and lips on her shoulder.

“Ya need any help with that, Dee?” Misty asked, pressing kisses against her freckled skin.

“I think I’m alright,” Cordelia laughed, nudging Misty with her elbow. “But, you could go ask around and see if the girls need anything from the store.”

“Will do,” Misty said, pecking one last kiss against the base of her neck before walking out of the room to do what her wife asked.

* * *

 

At the grocery store, Cordelia pulled a cart out of the corral and walked toward the produce section. Pausing for a moment, she raises an eyebrow when Misty doesn’t immediately hop onto the front of the cart.

“Is something wrong?” The older blonde can’t help but ask with worry lacing her tone. Though they might get the odd look or two - it’s not everyday you see a grown woman riding on a cart in the supermarket - Cordelia looks forward to pushing her wife down the aisles; Misty’s voice going on about her thoughts on each product as she pulls it off the shelf and drops it into the basket in front of her.

Misty’s eyes shift away, her head ducking away from Cordelia’s questioning look. “I just- I feel like walkin’ today.”

The Cajun’s voice raises at the end, like she’s asking something rather than stating it. Cordelia feels something like _hope_ settle in her chest but a voice in her head ( _that sounds a little too much like Fiona_ ) rips it down with the reminder, how _many_ times did you hope before, _hm_? And she pushes off the rapid-firing thoughts, looking at her wife and asking,

“Do you have the list, dear?”

Misty dug through her purse to find the shopping list. Finally pulling it out, she handed the crumpled piece of notebook paper to her wife.

“Thanks, Mist.”

Walking through each section, they slowly made their way through the list. Soon,they found themselves in the liquor section.

“What kind of wine did you like again, Misty?” Cordelia asked, looking up and down the aisle before her eyes landed back on her wife.

“Wine doesn’t sound very good tonight I don’t think,” Misty said, shrugging her shoulders and pinching her lips together in a smile.

Cordelia furrowed her brows and looked back down the aisle once more.

“Alright. Did you want to get something else instead?”

“No, I think I’m alright, ‘Dee.”

Making their way to the registers, Cordelia wondered why her wife didn’t want to get any wine. Normally, she loved it as much as Cordelia did.

_Maybe she’s pregnant!_

Cordelia banished the thought immediately, refusing to get her hopes up only for the let down to be brutal.

After checking out and loading the groceries into the trunk, Cordelia drove back to the academy, holding Misty’s hand in her lap the entire ride.

* * *

 

 

Back at the house and having finished unloading the groceries, Cordelia went into their bedroom and settled into bed with a book. Just a few pages later, Misty burst into the room.

“Delia..” she said, beginning to pace around the room.

Standing up out of bed, she walked to meet her wife. Grabbing her by the shoulders, she stilled her.

“What is it, Mist?”

“I have somethin’ important i need ta tell ya.”

Blood rushed in Cordelia’s ears, her anxiety spiked as her mind raced with all of the possibly _horrible_ things Misty could be telling her right now.

Maybe she’s sick, maybe she’s _leaving_ me, maybe she’s in love with-

“It worked.”

Her thoughts finally interrupted, her brows tilted down in confusion.

“ _What_ worked?”

“The spell, ‘Dee, _it_ worked. I’m pregnant.”

The blood rushing started again as Misty rambled on, and Cordelia couldn’t hear a word she was saying.

“How do you know?” she asked, cutting her off.

“I can _feel_ it, Delia. I can feel its life.”

Tears filled Cordelia’s eyes, threatening to spill over onto her cheeks. Pressing a shaking hand against Misty’s stomach, she gasped, feeling the growing life under her fingertips, exploding with power.

Falling to her knees, she gently gripped Misty’s hip in one hand and used her other hand to pull up her shirt. Tears flowed freely down her face now, disbelief turning into pure joy and the rawest form of love she had ever felt.

Pressing kisses against Misty’s stomach, she felt her wife’s hands come down to smooth over the crown of her head. Looking up to lock eyes with her, a new form of joy constricted her heart, and she let out a choked, breathy laugh.

Moving one palm against her abdomen, she wiped away some of her tears, only for fresh ones to keep pouring out of her eyes.

“Hi, baby…” she said, her voice coming out faint and strangled. Misty laughed, wiping away her own tears with the heel of her hand.

“I’m your _mommy_.” Cordelia whispered, moving her lips to kiss her stomach softly again. Misty pulled her up to stand, and Cordelia kept one palm pressed against her tummy.

She brought her hand up to Cordelia’s cheeks and brushed away some of her tears. Cupping her jaw, she tilted her face upward to press their lips together. Cordelia slipped her hands into Misty’s curls as she moved her lips against her wife’s, exhaling through her nose as she tried to express all of her emotions through one kiss.

After pulling away, Cordelia wiped more of her tears away, breathing a shuddery sigh.

“I just can’t believe this is real,” she said, smiling and moving one hand back to Misty’s stomach.

“Our lil lovebug,” Misty said, wrapping her arms around Cordelia’s middle.

Laughing shakily as more tears spilled out of her eyes, she pressed a kiss to the tip of Misty’s nose.

“Yes. _Our_ little lovebug.”


	3. Three

She feels silly; waking up the next morning and wondering if any of it was even  _ real. _ Misty’s light snoring beside her, Cordelia lets herself really accept the fact that they’re  _ expecting _ . 

 

The bright feeling of life radiates off Misty, and the older blonde wonders if that’s what people mean by pregnancy glow. There had been many, many almosts when Hank and her had been trying and there had never been this feeling of pure  _ creation _ . Like trying to grab a dollar bill in the wind, but everytime your fingers brush the paper, it would float away. 

 

Laying in bed, Cordelia realizes she caught it.  _ Finally _ . Her smile hurts her cheeks and she feels giddy - they are going to be parents. 

 

Not wanting to wake up Misty too early and wanting the other woman to get as much rest as possible, Cordelia gently gets up and dresses as silently as possible. Her hands carefully pull drawers out and she winces when her foot kicks the bed when she tugs on her skirt. 

 

Her relieved sigh is short-lived, Misty pushing the comforter off her shoulders and look up, her dazed eyes landing on Cordelia already nearly dressed. “Whatcha doin’, darlin’?” 

 

Her voice is dry and she rubs the sleep from her eyes, squinting against the sun.

 

“I didn’t… I assumed I should let you get your sleep.” Cordelia tells her, a little nervous. Her hands coming together and her fingertips picking at her nails,  “For the, um… For the baby.”

 

“ _ Oh.”  _ Misty’s face falls, her mouth opens, and it shuts. She finally figures out what she wants to asks, “Dee, you always wake me up in the mornin’, are ya gonna stop now?”

 

Cordelia bites her bottom lip; in the entire time they’ve shared a bed they’ve gotten up together and had a morning routine. It had started to help Misty get back  to reality after her stay in Hell, but the little tradition had developed into their  _ thing. _

 

Misty’s tone is playful, her hair messier than usual, “Cause I would be sleepin’ til noon without you.” 

 

“I guess…” Cordelia’s mind yells at her, and she knows herself better than anyone else. Her thoughts always go to that  _ bad  _ place that traps everyone and everything good that happens to the supreme. Part of her wants to scoop Misty up and put her in a bubble for nine months; or  _ forever _ . But Cordelia can’t do that, she can’t keep Misty locked off from anything that could hurt her forever. 

 

Everything is just so  _ frightening.  _ And though Misty’s a completely different person, Cordelia’s had enough trauma in her past to let anything happen to this baby.

  
  


“I guess I will keep waking you up.” Cordelia relents, “But, you can’t twirl down the stairs anymore, or jump down the porch, or-”

 

“I’ll be more careful, ‘Delia.” Misty laughs, her wife’s fretting as adorable as ever, “Promise.” 

 

“Okay.” Cordelia walks over, running her hand over the younger woman’s cheek as she lay in bed, tucking Misty’s hair behind her ear. The swamp witch leans into the touch. She leans down and uses both her palms to guide Misty’s chin up, ignoring morning breath as she kisses her. 

 

“Good mornin’, Miss ‘Delia.” Misty hums when the part, a content expression on her face.

 

“Good morning.” Cordelia’s eyes flicker down, to Misty’s middle still covered by the blanket. The wild blonde notices the barely-there action and she asks,

 

“Do ya wanna say mornin’ to the ‘lil one?” 

 

The question makes Cordelia blush furiously, her brain understanding the little bundle of nerves has no way of getting anything she’d say to it; on top of it feeling silly to talk to her wife’s still flat tummy.

 

“I wanna too,” Misty admits, “I think it’ll be good for ‘em, ya know?” 

 

“Yes.” Cordelia agrees, “Probably good for the baby.” 

 

They stay like that, paused in the conversation. Until Misty urges her with a raised eyebrow and smirk, “Go on, ain’t nothin’ to be scared of.” 

 

“Okay.” Cordelia breathes out, kicking herself into gear and pushing the covers off her partner. Though not a  _ new  _ activity - there have been plentiful times she’s mirrored this exact moment - the end goal is not one of bringing Misty an interesting wake up call. Her hands settle on the ends of the swamp witch’s faded  _ Fleetwood Mac  _ tour shirt, the cotton soft from wear underneath her touch. She goes to sit atop of Misty’s thighs, her warm a sharp contrast to the coolness of the room. 

 

Pushing up the fabric the older woman carefully looks over the expanse of her wife’s stomach with undivided attention, looking for any change in the well-known form. She knows it’s too early but -

 

“Ya keep starin’, you’ll make ‘em nervous, Dee.” 

 

The burn across her cheeks is familiar, Misty’s giggling filling the room. Taking the plunge, she presses her palm ever so softly into the skin of Misty’s lower belly and tries to channel all her current  _ feelings  _ into the touch. 

 

_ Fear and longing, the hope that grows in her as much their little baby grows underneath the palm of her hand.  _

 

“Good morning,” She feels  _ odd  _ but the words feel so natural coming from her vocal chords, “Did you sleep well, lovebug?”

 

She glances up, sees Misty grinning down at her, chin on her chest and eyes tired with the morning.

 

“Probably sleepin’ now,” Misty tone is teasing, her hand coming down to rest on top of Cordelia’s, “Wakin’ me up ta puke my guts out earlier.”

 

Cordelia immediately panics, “You didn’t wake me up?” Her eyes search for any signs of sickness right now and she questions, “Would you like to sleep in for a while? You should-”

 

“It’s okay.” Misty stops her, jokingly pokes her finger into her tummy and says, “It’s my turn ta keep ‘em up.” 

 

Cordelia laughs at that, at Misty’s tongue poking out and her antics. Her heart swells and she sighs, her mouth moving before she can stop it (not that she  _ would _ ).

 

“I love you, you’re the  _ best  _ thing that ever happened to me.” 

 

When she looks up from her funny little poking, she expects Cordelia’s eyes to be on her stomach. But she isn’t talking to the lovebug, her brown irises locked on Misty’s own blue-gray ones as soon as she catches them. The sentence brings a pleasant fire to her chest, like her heart itself is blushing. 

 

“I love ya, ‘Delia. So much.” 

 

She laughs, a little hiccuped by emotion and she smooths her palm over Misty’s belly. 

 

“I love you  _ too _ , baby.” 

 

“We both do.” Misty nods, her eyes squinting with her smile. She pauses, and her mouth forms into a smirk, “Did ya hear that?” 

 

“Hear what?” Cordelia asks.

 

“I think they said they want some of your pancakes.” Misty relays the information clearly, a mischievous glint to her expression. “The ones with the bananas, darlin’.”

 

“What are you hiding in there, hm?” Cordelia drags her fingertips over Misty’s abs, the muscles ticklish under her touch, “A little monkey?” 

 

She stands, offers her hand to help Misty up, 

 

“Come on, let’s go eat.”

 

_____

 

The early hour offers much appreciated quiet peace in the normally buzzing academy. They do pass the odd student here or there, a girl nearly runs into them as they round toward the stairs. 

 

Her face turns red and she stares up at the taller Supreme, “Sorry, Mrs. Goode.” 

 

Cordelia shakes her head softly, her hand still holding tightly to Misty’s as they pause in the hallway, “Remember what I said, Mel? You don’t have to call me  _ Mrs. Goode _ .”

 

Misty watches, always enjoying Cordelia interact with her many students. Her compassion for any young witch is unsurpassed, the Cajun is sure that her wife has memorized every name and birthday along with most of the girl’s favorite foods. 

 

“Oh, sorry Miss Cordelia.” Mel corrects herself, pushes her glasses up and hugs her books to her chest, “I was just going to the library…”

 

The girl’s voice trails off, her head turning to stare at Misty. Cordelia follows her line of sight, sees the odd glance directed at Misty and clears her throat, 

 

“Is everything alright?”

 

Mel shakes her head like she’s getting rid of a thought, “It’s just… Is something different, with Miss Misty?”

 

The couple gives each other a shared, worried look. Misty offers an explanation, Cordelia at a loss for words.

 

“That’s just cause I’m wearin’ Miss ‘Delia’s clothes today, is all.” She fumbles for an answer.

 

“Miss Cordelia has Fleetwood Mac shirts?” Mel asks, her eyes squinting. “And alligator pajama pants?” 

 

“We don’t want to keep you from your studies any longer,” Cordelia changes the subject, tugging on Misty’s hand to get them moving to the kitchen, “We’ll see you later, Mel.” 

 

The student stares after the couple rushing down the stairs and says to the empty hall, 

 

“That was weird.” 

 

____

 

“I think we gotta tell the girls.” Misty flips through the newspaper pages in the counter, her elbows resting on the marble surface as she barely reads the articles. 

 

“So soon?” Cordelia bites her lip, pouring batter into the skillet and turning down the flame. “Isn’t it still too early to tell anyone?”

 

Misty scoffs, standing up straight and placing both her palms on the counter were her elbows just rested, “Do ya think a house full of teenage  _ witches  _ ain’t gonna gossip ‘bout my new aura, ‘Delia?” 

 

She sets down her spatula, turns to look at Misty and groans, “You’re right. You’re  _ always  _ right.” 

 

Misty moves, her footsteps graceful as she sidesteps around the kitchen island and stops in front of her wife, 

 

“That’s awful nice of ya to admit, Dee.” She wipes the loose powder of flour, vanilla and cinnamon off Cordelia’s hands as soon as  she notices it, letting her touch linger, dragging her fingers up and around the woman’s upper arm before licking her finger to taste the ingredients. She widens her eyes and smacks her lips together and says, “Very good.”

 

“Don’t you do that.” Cordelia warns, her thighs squeezing together to somewhat try to relieve the pressure Misty’s teasing has caused.

 

“Do  _ what? _ ” She leans closer and brushes her lips over Cordelia’s, the contrast of her own slight chapped ones against Cordelia’s soft ones doing little to calm the heavy atmosphere of the room.

 

“The girls will be waking up soon.” Cordelia tries, wanting nothing more than to just accept Misty’s advances, “We’re in the  _ kitchen, _ dear.” 

 

“Guess that means I gotta work fast then, huh?” Misty giggles, her hands fumbling to grab Cordelia’s thighs and lift her up, letting her bottom settle on the counter next to the stove, “Good thing ya picked out a skirt today, ‘Delia.” 

 

Her arm reaches down and snakes its way up her skirt, bumping against the soft skin of her inner thighs before pressing insistently against the wet front of her cotton panties. 

 

“ _ Misty _ .” The older blonde tries to make it sound something like a scolding, but the rapid circling going on has her arguments coming out like pleas. Careful not to touch the hot stove, she scrambles to wrap her arms around Misty’s neck, panting into the woman’s neck. 

 

“You’re so pretty like this, Dee.” Misty murmurs against her ear, nibbling the lobe between her teeth, and her southern accent hugging each word, “Beggin’ me to make ya cum.” 

 

Her fingers slip underneath and Cordelia groans, fists coming free of Misty’s hair to hit against the counter she sits on.

 

“Well, c’mon.” Misty encourages, the drag of long fingers and the heat of Misty’s warm body pressing closer to her own. “Do it, darlin’.”

 

The drawl of the Cajun’s request sends her shaking against the counter, her legs wrapping around Misty’s back and locking her ankles together to pull the younger woman closer to her.

 

Her orgasm racks through her and the fire in her belly bursts open, along with the kitchen door. Misty’s fingers are pulling out as suddenly as Queenie’s voice breaks their little bubble.

 

“What’s burning in here? I swear, Misty if you-” 

 

The girl’s eyes fall on Misty standing at the counter, Cordelia looking over her shoulder and her legs still spread out on either side of Misty’s hips. The younger blonde’s head turning to look over her shoulder at the same point she raises her two fingers to her mouth and sucks the digits, including the rings decorating them.

 

“ _ Really? _ ” Queenie sighs, putting a hand on her hip and shaking her head, “Right next to the coffee pot? That shit is  _ nasty.”  _

 

Cordelia’s blush burns and she hides it in Misty’s hair. Gone is the rush of pleasure and she notices the pancakes turning black in their pan. Her hand goes to click off the stove; Misty’s voice loud as she leans into the witch’s chest, 

 

“Good mornin’ to ya too, Queenie.” 

 

From the laugh Misty lets out, her head thrown back slightly and her hands helping ease down her lover’s legs off her hips, Cordelia guesses their unexpected visitor flips the swamp witch off.  

 

“Q-Queenie,” Cordelia winces when her voice breaks, “Can you gather the girls in the main foyer, please?”

 

“Sure thing, if you do something for me.” 

 

“What?” 

 

“Bleach that counter.” 

 

______

 

Cordelia’s hands fidget against the buttons of her blouse, the toe of her shoe tapping against the edge of the step she stands on, Misty on the standing on the next one down. Though with their height difference, the added inches just about make them eye-level. 

 

“Are ya nervous?” Misty whispers, looking back at her with concern. She’s changed into something a bit more appropriate for a meeting of the entire school - black shawl draped over her matching long sleeve tucked into a olive green ankle-length skirt. She plays with the fabric, letting it swish around her feet as she offers Cordelia, “I think they’ll all be real excited, don’t ya?”

 

She thinks of their wedding; the sheer amount of young witches who jumped up and down at the news. Though neither of them had relatives to speak of, both sides of the aisle were filled to the brim with their real  _ family.  _

 

“I have a feeling we’ll be canceling classes today.” Cordelia sighs, though whatever annoyance it holds is faked. Misty knows that of course, 

 

“Lil’ lovebug is gonna have a lotta village lookin’ out for ‘em.” 

 

Cordelia looks over her coven, all the girls crowding and talking quietly to each other. A sharp different to the Academy under her mother’s care. She thinks, if there is one thing she has done  _ right  _ in her lifetime, this coven is it. 

 

She glances over at Misty, the way the wild blonde metaphorically glows with life, and promises whatever force that’s listening that she’ll make sure she makes her family another accomplishment on her short list.

 

(If she’d asked Misty, in that moment, she’d get a list as long as the dust-covered spell books in the oldest languages known. Of her kindness and charity, her love and  _ leadership _ .)

 

Zoe’s voice breaks her of her staring, and she looks up,

 

“Our Supreme has an announcement to make.” 

 

Cordelia gulps, feels her throat tighten with nerves. The entire coven’s eyes rest on her, and she does little but open and close her mouth like a breathless fish. 

 

She feels something brush against her hand, calloused fingers tightly squeezing her own. A thumb brushing against her knuckles. Misty’s kind smile supporting at her side. 

 

“I wanted to tell you all,” She starts, calmly but feeling like a whirlwind inside, “Some very exciting news.” 

 

She swears the mass of girls lean in collectively. 

 

“Misty and I…” She looks away from them then, to take her free hand and place it on the younger witch’s chin. Her wife pushes her cheek into her palm, and Cordelia realizes the reason her face hurts is because she’s smiling  _ too  _ hard,  “We’re going to have a baby-”

 

The  _ roar _ of screams reminds her vaguely of a concert she attended as a teenager herself, Misty flinches at the loud outburst of yelling. They both had been locked on each other and they both take in the girls reacting together. There’s mutual agreements of excitement coursing through the air, and Zoe is close enough to lean to her side a bit and be heard over the commotion, 

 

“Congratulations.” She offers, her long brown hair hiding her face but the smile in her words is unmissed. 

 

“Thank ya.” Misty replies before she can. 

 

Cordelia can catalog her life into three main chapters. There is the Before Misty; a long unhappiness that had her feeling like an empty shell on the beach getting overlooked by every bypasser. Her mother,  _ Hank,  _ the coven. 

 

Then, there was the Without Misty - her least favorite. Because  _ before _ she didn’t know what she needed, and then Cordelia had lost the piece of her heart she’d finally found.

 

(At night, she’d cry and wish she never met Misty Day. Because she’d never of ever felt  _ real  _ happiness like the warm feeling have their short-lived memories - But Misty wouldn’t have failed her test and there’s something much more tragic about losing your soulmate than never even running into them.) 

 

She sees the rush of girls running up to them, and she feels deafened by their questions. Cordelia watches Misty talk to  them, her eyes lighting up and it’s clear -

 

_ With  _ Misty outshines the rest of her life by far. 

  
  
  
  
  



	4. Four

In her office, Cordelia sat at her desk, flipping through the book in front of her distractedly. It was not quite 10 in the morning, and she was already antsy. Even though the first appointment was no big deal, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something had to be wrong.

 

A rap against her door frame shifted her attention, and she met her wife’s eyes. A smile worked its way onto her face despite the still prominent worry,  sitting in her stomach like a firework about to go off.

 

“Hey, ‘Dee,” Misty said, stepping further into the room.

 

Placing her book down on her desk, she leaned back into her chair.

 

“Hi, baby.” 

 

Misty smiled and moved toward her wife, steadying the chair with her hands before straddling her wife. Pressing her lips against her forehead, she sighed contentedly and nestled her head in the crook of Cordelia’s shoulder. 

 

“Are you tired, Mist?” Cordelia asked, smoothing one hand over the back of Misty’s blonde curls.

 

A muffled “mm-hmm” was heard and Cordelia laughed, wrapping her arms around Misty’s middle and nuzzling her face into her neck. Inhaling her vanilla scent, she pecked kisses against her throat as Misty laughed.

 

Cordelia squeezed her arms around her back tighter, pressing her wife closer to her chest. Misty pulled backward with a gasp, as if she’d been burned, bringing her own hands up to her chest to feel. 

 

“What’s wrong?” Cordelia asked, her brow furrowing in concern. 

 

“I dunno, they just hurt,” Misty said, gently squeezing her breasts as her face pinched together in pain. 

 

“Oh, yeah. That’s common,” Cordelia said, feeling a flush of excitement at the signs of the life growing inside of her wife.

 

“Well, I don’t think I like it too much.”

 

“Why is that?” 

 

“Cause then you can’t do this ta me,” Misty replied, reaching forward and grabbing Cordelia’s breasts forcefully, a gasp wrenching out of the other woman. Misty slid off of her wife’s lap and walked toward the door. 

 

“ _ Tease, _ ” Cordelia accused, crossing her arms over her chest as her heart thudded heavily in her rib cage.

 

“I have ta go get ready, ‘Dee,” Misty said, giggling and blowing a kiss over her shoulder as she left the room. 

 

Cordelia laughed to the empty room, relaxing back in her chair and waiting for her wife to return, ready to go.

 

_____

 

The paper on the doctors table crinkled under Misty as she hoisted herself onto it. Already changed into her hospital gown, she clenched her hands together anxiously in her lap.

 

Cordelia stood by her wife, and she noticed the nervous behavior, offering her hand up to her. Misty took the offer, lacing her fingers through Cordelia’s and looking to her gratefully.

 

A heavy knock echoed through the room and Misty jumped. Cordelia smoothed her free hand down Misty’s upper arm, attempting to soothe her wife. 

 

“Come in!” she called.

 

The door opened and a woman walked in, closing the door behind her and glancing down at her clipboard. 

 

“Misty?” 

 

After a quick nod in response, she smiled and reached out to shake her hand. 

 

“Hi, I’m Dr. Rhodes, I just need to ask you a few questions and run a few tests, sound good?” she asked, smiling over at Cordelia before moving to shake her hand as well. 

 

Misty nodded and squeezed Cordelia’s hand harder, looking up to her wife anxiously. Cordelia smiled down and squeezed her fingers back around her wife’s.

 

“Alright, if you could just lay back and bring your feet up on the table, please,” the doctor instructed, moving to pull on a pair of latex gloves. 

 

Misty’s breath hitched and she looked back up to her wife pleadingly. She’d never done well at doctor’s appointments. Something about them always made her feel uneasy.

 

Cordelia let go of Misty’s hand and helped her move backward to lay down. 

 

“You’re doing great, dear,” she whispered encouragingly, smoothing one hand over her wife’s head. 

 

The doctor turned toward them, several glinting metal tools in hand. Misty felt a flush of worry crawl up her back, and she slammed her eyes shut, reaching out for Cordelia’s hand again. 

 

Cordelia let her fingers be squeezed painfully in Misty’s grip, whispering soothingly in her ear the whole time. 

 

After several tests and a long discussion of family history, (most of which Misty hadn’t had the answers to), the doctor set her clipboard to the side. 

 

“It can be uncommon to hear it this early, but did you want to try and hear the heartbeat?” 

 

Cordelia’s eyes widened and a wave of hope and excitement and joy filled her stomach, she looked to Misty and they exchanged a glance before Misty nodded vigorously.

 

“Okay, well I’ll let you put your pants back on, and then just lay back and pull your gown up.” 

 

Cordelia’s stomach leaped with excitement at the thought of hearing her child’s heartbeat. Her own thudding rapidly in her chest, she handed her wife her pants and helped her lay back on the table. 

 

The doctor moved toward Misty on a stool, pulling a tray with a monitor on it along. She pressed the wand against Misty’s lower stomach and adjusted it, glancing at the monitor. 

 

Misty looked up at her wife in anticipation, squeezing her hand again. Cordelia looked down at her, and tried to ignore the dull thud of dread in her stomach, waiting for the noise of the heartbeat to fill the room. 

 

Her anxious thoughts were cut off as a faint sound filled the room, sounding like a toy train chugging around plastic tracks. Tears filled her eyes, immediately spilling down her fair cheeks as her grip tightened around Misty’s hand.

 

“Delia, sugar, you’re hurtin’ me,” Misty said, looking up at her wife, tears filling her own eyes at the sound of their unborn child’s heartbeat. 

 

“I’m sorry,” Cordelia whispered, loosening her grip and using her free hand to wipe away her tears.

 

The doctor smiled before pulling the wand away and moving the monitor back. 

 

“I’ll let you two get ready, and you can set your next appointment up at the front desk.” 

 

As soon as the door clicked shut, Misty pulled her wife down for a kiss. 

 

“I love ya so much, ‘Dee,” she whispered, pulling back and using the pads of her thumbs to brush away Cordelia’s still spilling tears. 

 

“I love you too, Mist,” Cordelia choked out, exhaling roughly.

 

Cordelia felt the butterflies in her stomach settle, finally at peace knowing that her wife and child were okay. 

_ Finally. _

 

_ _____ _

  
  


An hour later and sat in a fairly busy restaurant, Cordelia still wasn’t able to wipe the smile off of her face. 

 

“Don’t your cheeks hurt by now, Delia?” Misty teased, taking a sip of the water from her glass. 

 

“I’m just so happy, Mist, I can't believe it’s real,” she said, her grin spreading wider. 

 

The server interrupted by setting their plates down in front of them. 

 

“Anything else I can get you?” he asked, glancing between the two women. 

 

“I think we’re alright,” Cordelia said, looking up at him with a smile. Wordlessly, she reached for Misty’s plate and began cutting up her chicken. 

 

“Thanks, darlin’,” Misty said, grateful that she didn’t even have to ask. 

 

“Of course.” 

 

Handing her plate back to her, she sat her hand palm up on the table, silently asking for her wife’s comforting embrace. Misty grabbed her wife’s hand and smiled at her. 

 

“I was so nervous, Mist.”

 

“I know, ‘Delia,” she replied, moving her thumb against her wife’s wrist comfortingly. “I was too.” 

 

Cordelia’s face split into an even wider grin and her eyes filled with tears yet again.

 

“I’m just so happy, that you’re alright, and they’re alright. I love you both so much, Mist,” she whispered. 

 

Misty let go of her wife’s hand and brought her palm up to cup her cheek. She wished she could press all of her joy and overwhelming love right into Cordelia, she knew that words couldn’t express how powerfully she was feeling right now. 

 

Looking into Cordelia’s watery eyes, she knew that she did. Cordelia felt it all. 

 

____

 

Hours later, in bed, Misty was snuggled tight to her wife’s side. Cordelia was propped up against several pillows, glasses on, reading aloud from her book. 

 

Eyes shut tight, she let Cordelia’s voice calm her into a haze. 

 

Cordelia glanced down at her, stroking one hand from the crown of Misty’s head all the way down her back. 

 

“You tired, dear?” she asked, attempting to shut her book with one hand, keeping the other on her wife. 

 

“Mm, no, keep readin’ to me, ‘Delia,” Misty grumbled, snuggling closer to her.

 

Letting out a light laugh, she opened her book once again and began to read. She looked back down at her wife, smoothing her hand down her golden curls once more. 

 

_ I could stay like this forever. _


	5. Five

_Knock, knock, knock_ sounds against the doorframe of the dining room. Both Cordelia and Zoe look up from the books they’d been reading their shared lesson on the _History of Magick_ out of to take notice of their visitor. Lined up and taking notes at the table, the attention of their class is rerouted to the girl shifting on her feet and biting her lip entering the room.

 

“Cami?” Cordelia calls, worried at the frantic look to the girl’s eyes as she steps closer to the supreme. Her own brown ones narrow, “Aren’t you supposed to be in  _ Herbal Potions  _ right now?”

 

“Yes, Miss Cordelia, but the other girls decided we should get you because…” 

 

Her heart jumps, and the Supreme remembers -  **Herbal potions** \-  _ Misty’s  _ class.

 

“What happened?” It rushes out of her in a breath, and Cami looks around the room. Deciding that their leader looks like she’s two seconds from panicking, the girl finally spits out.

 

“We were taking a quiz Miss Day handed out, and when we got done, she had fallen asleep.” She kicks her shoe into the ground, watches it and admits to Cordelia, “Nobody wanted to wake her up, she seemed really tired.” 

 

Something like relief floods the older blonde’s veins, a weight lifts off her chest and she takes a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. Cordelia nods, understanding the situation better. There is a slight anger rooting in her, and her heels tap against the hardwood as she walks out of the room with a look to Zoe, 

 

“You can handle the rest of the class?” 

 

“Yes.” 

 

“Thank you.” 

 

The walk to the greenhouse is easy and familiar, she passes everything with ease and the humidity of their little botany space blankets her like a welcome home. Various students sit with their notebooks and phones, and Cordelia spots her wife, chin in her hands and elbows propping her up on the workbench. Misty makes no move to wake up as Cordelia comes to a stop in front of her. 

 

Her eyes flutter under her lids, and Cordelia can clearly see she is  _ very  _ knocked out. 

 

“Misty.” She gently reaches across the table and taps her arm gently, and her hand rubs comforting circles into the swamp witch’s skin when she blinks into consciousness. “Mist, dear, you fell asleep.”

 

The younger blonde yawns, groans and tightens her eyes shut at the lighting, “ _ Tired.”  _ She speaks.

 

“You fell asleep teaching, Mist.” 

 

_ That  _ makes her wake up. The Cajun jumps a little and her stool rocks on the uneven stones beneath it, she glances over all the young girls watching them and turns bright red. She raises her hand to her cheek and wipes at the little bit of drool that’s spilled from the corner of her lips with her sleeve. 

 

“Would you like to go up to bed?” Cordelia questions, looking over her wife’s endearingly sleepy expression, “I’ll finish up here for you.” 

 

“But it’s my class, ‘Delia.” Misty reasons, though the words are held tightly with exhaustion, “I should be able to do it.”

 

“Go.” Cordelia smiles at her, shakes her head as Misty carefully stands and pulls her into a little hug, “I’ll be fine. I taught you, remember?” 

 

“You’re a great teacher, Miss Cordelia.” Misty grins a little back, hesitant to part from their embrace. 

 

Watching her leave, Cordelia makes note to discuss her sleeping habits soon. 

 

___

 

“Oh look, if it isn’t  _ Mama  _ Gator.”

 

Madison takes her oversized, black sunglasses off the bridge of her nose as she enters the kitchen. Her frown of disgust reaches all the way up to the movie star’s eyes as she looks at Misty eat an array of foods laid out on the kitchen island. 

 

The swamp witch does little to acknowledge the other blonde’s presence; she keeps eating one bagel while spreading cream cheese generously on another. 

 

“That’s disgusting,” Madison pretends to gag - her ponytail swaying with the action. She steps closer and glares at the open pickle jar, the peanut butter covering the lid of a container of anchovies. “Why aren’t you eating  _ tree bark, _ or something like that? Weren’t you like a feral cat before Cordy gave you a bath and pretty collar?” 

 

“Shut it, Maddy.” Misty bites back, though her retort is much less threatening spoken around a mouthful of unsavory foods. 

 

“ _ Jesus,  _ swampy, I can smell that from here.”

 

“Isn’t that what your last boyfriend said?”

 

Madison’s eye twitches, “You are  _ so  _ lucky you have a little parasite inside you or else…” 

 

“That really worked out for ya last time, huh?” Misty laughs, and wipes at her mouth letting the crumbs unknowingly fall to her shirt. 

 

“Laugh all you want -” -  _ bitch.  _ The young blonde cuts off her swear, knows Cordelia would have her  _ ass  _ if her lapdog came crying back to her about it, “At least people will still want to fuck me, unlike you.”

 

“What do you mean by that?” 

 

“Puh-lease. Do you really think Cordelia is still going to want to eat your pussy when you look like a bloated, dead whale?” Madison smirks at the way Misty frowns, her eyes downcast as they look at her buffet of food. 

 

When Madison’s heels click out of the kitchen, her face smug with an argument thought to be won, the swamp witch carefully pitches the new chubbiness of her stomach through her shirt and she feels tears brim her eyes; Cordelia’s going to think she’s repulsive.

 

And that’s how the Supreme finds her - later, although instead of the kitchen, Misty wails alone on their bed. Her legs can’t move fast enough, and she grabs at Misty’s arms and her voice cracks, 

 

“Misty, baby, what’s wrong?” 

 

A pitiful sob is her only reply, face reddened and eyes swollen with tears. Fear clutches at Cordelia’s rapidly beating heart and she begs,

 

“ _ Please,  _ Mist, tell me.” 

 

The shake of her words must break Misty’s own sorrow, she whimpers to a stop and explains plainly, “You-You’re gonna think I’m  _ ugly, _ ‘Delia.”

 

A sigh breathes out of Cordelia, and she lays  a comforting hand on Misty’s chin to cup it, “I could never,  _ ever  _ find you ugly. Okay? I promise.”

 

“You… You  _ promise? _ ”

 

“I promise.” The older blonde repeats, she wipes the tears from her wife’s cheeks, and she pushes strands of clinging hair back. Her heart aches, a little, the only time she ever sees Misty cry is after her nightmares; and it makes her asks, “What happened?”

 

Misty blushes under her already splotchy face, her voice mumbling, “Madison.  _ She  _ said I’d get big and ugly and-”

 

“You won’t.”

 

“But I  _ will.”  _ Misty sniffles. 

 

“You won’t be ugly.” Cordelia tells her, she kisses her cheek and assures, “I’m going to look at you, and all your stretch marks, and I’m going  to say; that’s my  _ wife  _ and that’s my kid.”

 

Misty giggles, it’s nasally and coated with mucus, “And my big old belly?”

 

“Especially you’re  _ big old belly. _ ” Cordelia teases. An idea comes to mind, one sure to cheer the Cajun up, and she smooths her hand down Misty’s arm - feeling goosebumps pebble under her touch. “And I’ll always think you’re the most beautiful woman I know.”

 

She lets her mouth plant on Misty’s, her hands keeping clear of the other woman’s sensitive breasts as she pushes her back to lay on the bed again, palms settling on Misty’s thighs. Her stomach burns, and Cordelia moans into her lover’s mouth. 

 

Except, when she pulls back (her breathing heavy, and there’s a familiar wetness in between her thighs that comes with Misty’s presence) there’s an odd expression across the younger woman’s face.

 

“That is not the look I usually get.” Cordelia groans, and she shifts her hips against Misty’s knee. It provides little friction, barely does anything but fuel her growing desire. The older witch’s tone is reluctantly acceptance, “I read about this.” 

 

“Read about what?”

 

“The hormones - the ones making you cry for no reason -” Cordelia smiles at her, “They’re going to make you less…  _ excited  _ about me.”

 

Misty tilts her head, confused, ”I’m always excited about you, Dee.” 

 

“I mean the kind of excited where you jump me on the way to the shower, Mist.” Cordelia tries to calm herself down, moves off of Misty and lays on her side of the bed. “You’re not going to be horny, the baby can do that.”

 

“Oh.” Misty’s understanding dawns on her face, her eyebrows drawing together. Cordelia can  _ feel  _ her shift her lower body, and then Misty nodding against her pillow. “This ain’t gonna last long, is it?”

 

“It depends.” Cordelia mumbles, closing her eyes and trying to think of anything else. But Misty props herself up on one elbow, looks down at her wife and makes the process of forgetting her lust difficult. She feels her own lips quirk up, “I’ll survive.”

 

“You could always…” Misty’s eyes glance down, she brings her free hand up and into view; wiggling the ringed fingers, “Like you taught me.” 

 

_ God,  _ that was a great memory. 

 

“You’re doing this on purpose.” Cordelia accuses, knows she’s right in the way the younger witch avoids eye contact. 

 

“Remember that?  _ Miss Cordelia,”  _ Misty takes Cordelia’s hand in her own, a reflection of their interactions from the memory coming to the forefront of the Supreme’s mind. “You told me, to not be afraid, ‘cause you could tell I was.”

 

“Scared.” Cordelia remembers - though it was not the first time they had sex (that had come shortly after, though), the unplanned lesson had been the first time she’d seen Misty climax. Oh, how’d she wanted that to be her hand instead of the swamp witch’s own. “You were shaking like a leaf.” 

 

“That wasn’t  _ all _ fear.” Misty points out, and she guides Cordelia’s hand down, over her own breasts, dipping below the waistband of the older woman’s pants, skipping right into the damp panties. The heated pad of her own finger sending pleasurable jolts down her legs. 

 

Cordelia’s gasp hiccups, it’s her own fingertips against her clit, but Misty’s guiding her in each circle and stroke; vaguely, it feels like she might be tracing out letters, but the rapid fire building in her gut prevents Cordelia from deciphering the words. The wild blonde’s voice is clear, and she tells her, “I wanted you so very bad, ‘Delia, I was drippin’ down my thighs.”

 

Misty certainly knows how to get her wife to scream, the dirty talk having Cordelia bite her tongue. There’s more than just them in this house, after all. 

 

“All I could think ‘bout was how pretty your real eyes were,” Misty admits, she applies more pressure and in turn, Cordelia’s cooing grows in volume, “I wanted to see ‘em, looking up from between my legs.” 

 

Their joined hands keep up the rhythm, and soon Cordelia is rocking into the motions and Misty’s mouth is kissing bruises on to her neck. The older blonde comes  _ beautifully _ , her back arches and her mouth falls open in a silent scream as her eyes screw shut. 

 

Then Misty sighs, a little dreamily. 

 

“‘Delia?”

 

“Yeah?” Cordelia pants.

 

“I guess it didn’t last very long at all.” 

  
  



	6. Six

Misty’s eyes fluttered open as she felt a cold hand press against her exposed stomach. She rolled to her side, her gaze passing over her wife’s warm eyes and the wetness that had gathered there again.  

 

Cordelia ran her fingertips down the length of Misty’s belly and smiled softly at her wife, a few tears slipping down her cheeks.

 

“You’ve got to be all cried out by now, darlin’,” Misty teased, cupping her cheek in her hand and gently wiping the tears away with the pad of her thumb.

 

With a laugh, Cordelia pressed a soft kiss against her lovers lips, willing herself to stop crying already.

 

“I would have thought so too, but it seems that I am not.”

 

Misty giggled and held her warm hand over Cordelia’s still cold one that rest on her belly, threading their fingers together and squeezing tight.

 

“I’m gettin’ big, huh?” she asked, peering down at her swollen stomach and the stretch marks lining it.

 

“No, our love-bug is,” Cordelia reminded, stroking her tummy lovingly. She dipped her head down to kiss her stomach softly and Misty smoothed her hand over the blonde hair.

 

After pulling away, Cordelia tried to tug Misty’s shirt back over the growing bump, but the cotton wouldn’t stretch over it.

 

“None of my shirts fit anymore, Delia,” she complained, joining in trying to pull it down.

 

“Maybe today we should go shopping, get you some new ones?” Cordelia suggested, giving up on the clothing and sitting up, stretching her back and moving to get out of bed.

 

“Alright,” Misty said, wiggling to sit up.

 

Cordelia watched her wife waddle toward the dresser, brushing her golden curls over her shoulder. She let out a giggle at the scene, her heart warming.

 

“What’s funny?” Misty asked, turning to look at her and placing her hands on her hips.

 

“You’re just cute,” she replied, watching Misty grin and turn back to get ready.

 

Ruffling through her drawers, Misty grumbled in frustration at the lack of oversized things. She walked over to their shared closet in search of something that wouldn’t leave her stomach completely exposed.

 

Pulling off her worn out and too tight sleep shirt, she ran her fingers along the rows of hanging clothing, She pulled on one of Cordelia’s soft oversized sweaters, rolling up the sleeves and tugging on the hem to make sure it fell below her waistline before exiting the closet.

 

Cordelia looked up from getting ready herself, laughing when she saw what Misty was wearing.

 

“Now, where did you find that?”

Misty crossed the room and slipped her hands over Cordelia’s shoulders, running them down the length of her arms before moving back up, tugging her closer in an attempt to hug her despite the bump in between them. She pressed her lips to her wife’s forehead and sighed contentedly.

 

“You just have the comfiest clothes.”

 

“Well, let’s go to the store, and we can get you some comfy clothes of your own. Not that I mind seeing you in mine,” she said, slipping one hand between them and up under the sweater, caressing Misty’s stomach.

 

She pulled backward as she giggled, pulling Cordelia’s cold hand away from her tummy and taking it into her warm one.

 

“Alright, honey, let's go.”

  
  


* * *

 

Walking along the aisles of the store, Misty had set several oversized shirts and pants with stretchy waistbands into the cart. The pair held hands, their intertwined fingers swinging slightly in between them as they walked. A woman passes, the cart she pushes has a large, bulky carseat in the basket; blanket covering it, little toys tied onto the handle.

 

Cordelia’s can’t help but grin back when Misty smiles at her knowingly.

 

Her feet stop them both, and the older woman wonders _why_ until she feels herself get tugged into women’s underwear section, cart left safely nearby. It surprises Cordelia, really, when Misty wanders to the bras, the swamp witch having never been a big fan of the restricting cups.

 

“Hey,” She stops next to Misty, notices her touching the ones distinctively bigger than her normal size. “Are you, um, running out of space?”

 

Cordelia blushes, somehow the mental image of Misty’s upper half always has her a flustered mess, especially when they’re staring down a wall of colorful garments for them. Misty laughs, her fingers run over the cups of one as she picks it off the display. Holding it against her chest, she turns to her wife and questions, “Do you like this one, darlin’?”

 

“Very much.” The navy colored bra has lace running over the cups, the side bands see through with a raised floral pattern, it’s very obviously a tease; Misty Day absolutely despises anything but simple, comfortable wear. But it makes Cordelia’s mouth water, and she quickly grabs it from the other blonde. “You have to try it on.”

 

“Are you gonna help me?”

 

“Misty _..._ ”

 

“ _Delia_ ,” the Cajun bounces back, a smile heard in her voice.

 

Collecting a few much more reasonable ones, the pair arrive at the fitting rooms and walk into the large, slightly too bright cubicle together. Immediately, before Cordelia’s even locked the door Misty’s shedding her large sweater, the black woolen material pooling on the floor and leaving her chest bare. Cordelia finds herself staring more at the simple swell of her belly. A soft and gentle roundness that spans the smoothness of Misty’s entire front now; seemingly growing larger by the day.

 

She nearly is too busy observing the new feature she almost jumps when Misty’s voice startles her out of her thought, “Hey Dee, can you close this?”

 

The younger blonde has her nose scrunched up, hands awkwardly reaching behind her to try and tug the bands shut. Cordelia’s mind goes blank (well not _blank_ , it runs wild with all the things she wants to do with Misty in the dark blue lace) as she takes in Misty’s chest pushed into the too tight undergarment.

 

Her hands fumble when Misty turns her back to her, straps loose under her arms as the witch sweeps her hair to the side; blonde curls bulky as she pulls them over her shoulder to clear Cordelia’s path.

 

“This is too tight.” Cordelia snorts, the sound makes Misty giggle loudly as the Supreme pulls desperately on the bands. The sight of Misty in the mirror in front of her, figure getting pulled left and right slightly as the older woman attempts to latch the hooks proves itself too funny. They also apparently are too _loud_ , the person in the next stall over pounding their fist on the shared wall out of annoyance.

 

It makes Misty laugh louder, her head tipping backward and her back leaning into Cordelia’s front. Standing like this, Cordelia places her chin on Misty’s shoulder to look at them together in mirror. It’s overwhelmingly _normal,_ shopping like this. But yet, it felt like a daydream for years - a far off thought buried along with Hank in her memories.

 

It’s not _her_ body that’s carrying their little bundle of joy, but it certainly is _her_ baby; just like Misty is her amazing, wonderful and attractive wife.

Cordelia wonders what her past-self would say about this scene, if she told herself on the floor of the academy, as what was Misty fell through fingers, as her tears became unconsolable. Would she have believed herself? Accepted it or denied what seemed to be impossible at the time?

 

(She thinks she knew all along that this was her fate; from the moment Misty’s hand touched her own and the drawl of her accent sounded in the doorway, to the second Cordelia watched her walk back into her life again. _Right as rain,_ Misty would say.)

 

“We should make a real racket,” Misty raises one eyebrow suggestively, her hips shift against Cordelia’s behind her. “Give ‘em somethin’ to complain about.”

 

As Misty enters her seventeenth week, the swamp witch’s sickness has completely left along with a good amount of her exhaustion. Their fridge is still struggling to keep up with her eating habits (and there have been plenty of late night drives to McDonald’s, because _fries and chocolate, Delia.),_ but the return of Misty’s energy and no longer upset stomach bring back the wave of her sex drive, too.

 

Not that Cordelia’s complaining.

 

Her hands come around, loop under Misty’s arms to carefully cup both of the younger woman’s breasts. The bra, unlatched, is loose under her palms as she lets her fingers squeeze. Standing like this, she watches her wife’s eyes flutter shut in the mirror in front of them. The muscles in Misty’s arm flex as she grips Cordelia’s wrist and tries to push it down to her pant’s waistband, impatient as ever.

 

“No,” Cordelia tilts her head, kisses the side of Misty’s throat with an open mouth, the mission to leave a mark on her mind. “You’re _not_ in charge today.”

 

“I’m not?” Misty questions, a bit of a challenge in her tone. She bites her lip when the older woman pushes her sweatpants down to her mid-thigh along with her panties.

 

Cordelia revels in the sight of her wife; the curve her hips, the way her cheeks tint pink with a flush, the fine blonde hair on her thighs that she finds no reason to shave; it’s matching curls in between Misty’s thighs.

 

“You’re lucky we aren’t home, dear.” Cordelia whispers, quiet in fear of someone hearing them. Her fingertips walk down the swell of Misty’s stomach, wasting little time in directly going for the bundle of nerves that’ll achieve her goal quickly, “I’d make you wait, like a good girl.”

 

The jolts of pleasure have the younger witch biting her lip, eyes rolling back slightly as Cordelia bites into the skin of her neck, nibbling the reddened mark before soothing it with light kisses. Her eyes falling shut earns Cordelia’s voice drawing out a gentle command, “Open your eyes, baby, watch yourself.”  Misty _does,_ the sight of her partner’s hand buried in between her thighs makes the toned legs shift open wider. “You’re so wet, can you see it?”

 

_God, she can._

 

The supreme’s hips buck into her rear, their position making Cordelia as worked up as she is. Watching her wife’s hand move in the mirror - the flex of the muscles on the back of her hand and circling fingers - Misty wonders if next time, Cordelia can wear their favorite purple, silicone toy strapped onto her hips under her clothing. The mental image of the older blonde bending her over nearly does it, her breath breaks out in little gasps. _There’s definitely going to be a next time._

 

Cordelia’s voice is low, her lips drag across the Cajun’s shoulder, “Let go.”

 

She does - her elbow bangs painfully against the wall, her lover’s hands steady her as Misty’s knees turn to jelly. She does succeed in staying quiet, though there’s a good chance her lip will bleed under the pressure her teeth bite into it. Pushing through the warm aftershakes, Misty spins in Cordelia’s arms, kissing the older woman hard enough to push her head against the wall. Another loud _bang_ that radiates through the flat surface. They look at each other, something like teenagers that’ve snuck out of class and into the broom closet.

 

“I think,” Misty starts, “I think we have to buy this now.”

 

The bra that loosely hangs off her shoulders is squished between them.

 

“I think so.”

 

* * *

 

Minutes later, after leaving the changing room with a dirty look from a customer or two, Cordelia pushed the shopping cart forward, her wife by her side, wandering through the aisles to reach the cash registers.

 

With a gasp, Misty stopped and grabbed something from off of a shelf. A soft green alligator with dark green fabric, a grin complete with pointed fabric teeth, and big plastic eyes.

  


“Delia, sugar, look at this!” she exclaimed, holding the plush alligator out to her wife.

 

With a giggle, Cordelia touched the fuzzy stuffed animal.

 

“That’s cute, Mist,” she said before looking up to meet her wife’s eyes, taking note of the pleading look in them.

 

“Oh no, Misty, we agreed, it’s too early to start buying stuff for the baby.”

 

“But look at it, ‘Dee..” she said, holding the alligator up and wiggling it in the air. “It’s too cute.”

 

With a sigh, Cordelia reached out for it, taking it and setting it in the cart next to the other items already piled in it.  

 

“Okay, but that’s all.”

 

Several minutes later, with half a dozen stuffed animals in the cart, Misty laughed.

 

“That’s all, huh?”

 

“Hush.”

  


* * *

 

Misty had her head in Cordelia’s lap, the older blonde’s fingers playing with her curls absentmindedly, reading aloud from her informational book on pregnancy. Her own hands were spread on her stomach, tracing patterns lazily across the growing bump.

 

“Mist, they’re as big as a pomegranate!”

 

Misty giggled and turned on to her side, looking up at Cordelia, her wife’s face split into a wide, excited grin and her face drawing closer to her opened book, reading glasses pushed high on the bridge of her nose.

 

“What else does it say?”

 

“It says they could start moving around, any time now, it would feel like little flutters, like butterflies or-”

 

“Like what?” Misty asks, eyes widening as she sits up abruptly.

 

“Butterflies?” Cordelia repeats, watching her wife stare down at her stomach as her own chest fills with worry.

 

“Mist, what’s wrong?” she asks, her brows pulling down with worry. She closes her book and tosses it carelessly to the edge of the bed, scooting toward her wife on her knees.

 

Misty drags her palms across her belly a few times, looking down at it in concentration. She feels a gentle flutter again, deep in her stomach, and lets out a breathy laugh.

 

“I think they’re movin’ around in there, Delia,” she says after a moment, looking back up to meet her wife’s concerned eyes.

 

“What?” Cordelia whispers, her voice already choked with emotion. She looks down at her wife’s stomach in disbelief. Misty giggles lightly and nods, reaching one hand to grasp the older woman’s wrist comfortingly.

 

Tears stream down Cordelia’s face as she leans down to cup Misty’s stomach in her hands, swallowing around the lump of emotion in her throat, she presses a kiss to the bump before sitting back up.

 

Taking her wife’s face in her hands, she presses a soft kiss to her lips, giggling quietly and wiping the tears that had slipped down Misty’s face, her thumbs stroking over the dimpled cheeks.

 

“I just can’t believe it, Mist,” Cordelia said, touching her lips to Misty’s nose in a gentle kiss before pulling back to look into her blue eyes. “Our little lovebug.”

 

Laughing, Misty sets her hands on top of her wife’s shoulders, bringing her fingers up to toy with the tips of her soft blonde hair.

 

Cordelia’s eyes dipped back down to the younger witch’s stomach, bringing her palm back up to rest on it and threading the fingers of her other hand through Misty’s blonde curls. Something shifted in her chest, settling deep inside of her.

 

_She could never let anything happen to either of them, ever again._

 

Seeing the look in her wife’s eyes, Misty furrowed her brows and tapped her fingers lightly against Cordelia’s shoulder.

 

“What is it, sugar?”

 

Cordelia looked back up, lightly stroking the pad of her thumb across Misty’s cheekbone.

 

“I’m going to protect you, both of you. Until the day I die.”

  
  



	7. Seven

Cordelia taps her heel on the sterile white waiting room tile floor, her hand at her mouth biting her nails down to the skin. The pastel yellow walls are filled with informative pregnancy art, and an overwhelming amount of baby photos. The tapping of her shoe disturbs the soft, elevator music that Misty hums along to as she sits with her legs crossed (surprising, considering the growing bulge of stomach) and a booklet in her lap. 

 

“‘Delia,” Misty looks up from the words, her blue eyes concerned as she watches her wife’s slow building panic, “You’re making me nervous, and that’s making the little bug roll around like a gator in mud.”

 

The reminder of their little one’s movement has Cordelia smiling, her teeth showing with the force of it. Even if Misty’s the one feeling the soft flutters of kicks, it makes her fears settle and back off. 

 

“It’s the halfway mark.” Cordelia states, she holds her palm face up, Misty’s fingers automatically intertwining with her’s, “It’s a very important appointment.” 

 

“Don’t worry too much, Dee.” Misty advises, her hair tied back slight in a half-undone braid, “I think we’re all gonna to be fine.”

 

“I hope so.” Cordelia seconds, and she very nearly jumps when the receptionist calls out over her desk, 

 

“Goode-Day.”

 

The walk to the exam room feels too long, Her hand squeezing tightly to Misty’s, her eyes glued to the bump on her wife’s front. Misty, on the other hand, runs her finger tips over each poster they past, eyes taking it all in with a sense of wonder. The younger blonde, looking back at Cordelia, keeps up a brave face. The prospect of something being wrong looms like a cloud, but Misty refused to let it rain on such a sunny day.

 

“The Doctor will be with you in a moment, if you’d just get on the table, no need to change this time.” The older woman leaves them, then. Misty wrinkles her nose at the paper sheets, moving to jump up.

 

“Be careful!” Cordelia is quick, her hand lands on Misty’s lower back, her frantic tone is loud enough that anyone outside the room are sure to have heard it.

 

“I’m good.” Now sitting on the table, the swamp witch laughs at her wife’s panic. She’s always been like that; too worried about others and not about herself. Resolving to take some of the edge off, Misty asks innocently,

 

“I saw tea in the lobby, darlin’. Would you mind getting us both a cup?” 

 

“Of course.” Cordelia reminds her of that funny personal assistant Madison had for awhile during one of her shoots, eager to please any little whim. “I’ll be right back, don’t go anywhere.”

 

“I won’t.”

 

“Okay. Tea, I can get that…” Her voice fades as the door shuts behind her, closing Misty in the medical room alone. It is a little scary, even with the baby-related decorations. But there’s a flurry of butterflies in her belly that brings her the comfort of not being alone. The wild blonde pokes at the feeling, staring at her tummy with great interest.  _ What will it be like,  _ she thinks,  _ when they get bigger?  _

 

The door opening is what breaks her gaze, draws it to the man who’s entered. He’s shorter than most men Misty’s encountered. He’s got on glasses, they make his eyes seem small. The white coat is a sharp contrast from the black flip of hair on his head, the sides shaved clean. 

 

“Hello, Mrs. Goode-Day.” He greets her, he holds a clipboard but doesn’t look at it, “I suppose you’re ready for your exam?”

 

Misty’s throat feels tight, her chest pounds and she fumbles for words, “You aren’t my-” 

 

“Doctor Rhodes is out on leave, and she left no notice of her returning back.” He explains it away, “I’m Doctor Pennypacker, I’ll be doing your prenatal care from now on.” 

 

“I’m more comfortable with a lady doc-” His eyes stare at her, Misty feels something like a fog roll through her thoughts, and whatever she was saying, suddenly feels wrong. Her tongue feels thick in her mouth, “Okay.”

 

“Lift your shirt,” He tells her, stepping closer. The stethoscope around his neck swings slightly as he moves, a hand raises toward her.

 

“I’d like to wait for my wife.” She tries, nerves fluttering along with the baby in her stomach, “She’s gonna be back soon-”

 

His palm is warm, it pushes on her shoulder to get her to lay back. The contact, unexpected and foreign, has Misty squeezing her eyes shut. Cordelia’s advice going through her head,  _ countdown from ten, you’re okay.  _

 

_ Ten, nine, eight -  _ It has been quite a long time since the last time her fear gripped like this; the bubbles of panic popping in her head. There are still triggers, like unexpectedly getting grabbed or shoved. -  _ seven, six, five.  _

 

There’s metal tools too, the glint of silver makes her stomach churn. The device around his neck, for instance, shapes itself into a scalpel in the backness of her eyelids. -  _ four, three, two. _

 

She invisions Cordelia, the blonde of her hair and the color of the freckles on her chest. The darkness on the edges of her thoughts crawls off; Cordelia hugging her, Cordelia planting roses, Cordelia laughing.

 

_ One.  _

 

Opening her eyes, she takes a deep breath that times itself well with the door opening. Thought the demons of her traumas are chased off, Misty doesn’t really hear Cordelia talking to the new Doctor. She only regains sound when the older witch comes over and brushes the hair out of Misty’s eyes. 

 

“You there?” 

 

The younger woman blinks at her, “Yeah.” 

 

There are hands pressing on her bump, a little too rough, she doesn’t tell her wife though. Cordelia is glancing at the big, blank screen that resides nearby. Excited, holding Misty’s hand with both her own. 

 

“Everything seems fine.” The Doctor - Pennypacker - determines, “We’ll run some blood work, before you go. But now, the ultrasound. Are you both interested in finding out the gender today?”

 

“Yes.” They both say, at the same time. 

 

A squeak breaks from her lips when the cold, jelly-like lotion is squirted on her lower belly. A button clicks the screen on, and Misty cranes her neck to look up and to her left at it as the bulb-end of the wand grazes across her skin, pressing in slightly. 

 

At first, the heartbeat pours from the speakers, and Misty grins. She can tell from the way Cordelia’s grip on her fingers tightens that she does the same. The train-sounding  _ whoosh  _ **_whoosh_ ** _ whoosh  _ making her own heart soar. The screen, changing from just black, lights up with confusing, white scans. 

 

It takes her a moment to realize what she is looking at, she thinks longer than it takes Cordelia. Her eyes run over the round, large head, the tiny arms. A little body that crunches in tiny sit-up like motions. The weird part, when the thing on the screen kicks its legs, and she feels it as she watches the hopping little baby. The real heavy, undeniable  _ love  _ crests as she’s mesmerized by it, watery eyes breaking from the miracle they’d witness to turn, to look at the pure joy on Cordelia’s face.

 

Her brown eyes look at the screen like it’s the only thing in the room, her grip has gone slack a little in shock and Misty takes the opportunity to squeeze back. The pressure makes Cordelia lean forward to kiss the crown of her hair, one hand petting the blonde curls. 

 

“And…” The Doctor, he moves the wand, and when he’s quiet for too long, Misty shifts to him. His eyes stare at the screen - but they lack the same emotion as the witches do. Still, something feels off about a medical professional drawing his eyebrows together glaring at their baby. 

 

He is quieter than before, the man draws back the wand like it’s burning him to hold it. 

 

“It’s a girl.”

 

* * *

 

  
  


In the car, after. Misty sits in the passenger seat, watches Cordelia turn the keys to rumble the engine to life. The younger blonde bites her lip, digs her fingers into the white paper bag with her name written on it. 

 

“You should take one.” Cordelia suggests, she turns on the air conditioning. The parking lot is nearly empty, but another, more far along woman walks through the doors. Misty grimaces, though. The oddly timed scowl having her partner question, “What’s wrong?”

 

“I didn’t like that guy.” 

 

“Neither did I.” Cordelia agrees, she looks behind them before easing the vehicle back, hands spinning the wheel. Stopping at the sign as they leave the lot she tells her, “We’ll find another doctor, okay?”

 

“Okay.” Misty unfolds the top of the bag in her lap, reaches in for the orange bottle. twisting the white lid idly. 

 

“At least we saw  _ her  _ today.” Cordelia offers, her tone light and happy, looking at the road in front of her. “And you got your vitamins. Right?” 

 

“I don’t like pills.” Misty pouts, pops the lid the peers in at the large circular medications, each one stamped with numbers. 

 

“Only two a day.” Cordelia’s voice is sympathetic, one hand on the wheel and the other goes to rub comforting circles on Misty’s thigh. “There’s water in the glovebox.”

 

Something burns in her, tells her to  _ stop _ . Don’t take them, throw the bottle out the window and keep driving. But there’s a flutter in her belly, and if the icky pills will help that little bug, then she’ll do it.

 

She’ll do it for  _ her. _

 

* * *

 

  
  


Cordelia chews on her pen, she stares at the papers on her desk. Three new girls, all interested in becoming full-time students at their academy. They’re running out of  _ room. _

 

Her eyes flicker to the ultrasound scan, tucked into the corner of the frame of a photo of her and Misty on their honeymoon, standing in front of the  _ Las Vegas  _ sign and kissing. 

 

A smile quirks on her lips, but it falls. They need to make space for an entire  _ baby,  _ soon. She’s five months along, and time is only going by faster. They need a crib, diapers,  _ is it even safe for an infant to live in a house full of people that can start fires on the drop of a dime? _

 

Groaning, the Supreme sits back in her chair. The door to her office is open, a small thing done to make sure the girls know she’s there for counselling and always ready to assist in any problems the Coven has. 

 

(Unlike Fiona.)

 

So when Kyle lumbers into frame, a worried look across his face. She perks up. 

 

“What’s wrong?”

 

“I was cleaning.” He starts. Though his speech has gotten better, the boy still pauses, still finds trouble in certain syllables. “I walked past your room. Misty was sleeping.”

 

“Yes, she’s napping.” Cordelia understands, the mention of Misty has her knee bouncing though, she takes her glasses off, “She had a very big day today.”

 

“She  _ was  _ sleeping.” He focuses on the word, scratches the back of his head and lets out a frustrated sigh at his own inability to clearing get information he finds important across. “Was.”

  
  


“She’s not sleeping anymore?” Cordelia guesses.

 

Kyle nods, he explains, “Was sleeping. Then, she was throwing up.”

 

“Oh.” Her heart rate must spike, Cordelia stands from her seat and goes to brush past him, “Thank you for telling me, I’ll go make sure she’s okay.”

 

“She’s okay, right?” He seems nervous, he wrings a dusting towel in his hands. 

 

“She’s fine. Why don’t you order pizza for all of us tonight?” Cordelia thinks, trying to offer Kyle some sense of comfort, “Make sure to order one with lots of pepperoni, it’s Misty’s favorite. Can you do that?”

 

“Yes, ma’am.”

 

She would of usually corrected him, watched him blush as she did so. But Cordelia finds herself rushing up the stairs, barely greeting the girls who call out  _ hello  _ as she walks by. When she does make it to the top, the sound of Misty’s dry heaving funnels down the hall.  _ Why is she sick? She hasn’t been sick at all this week,  _ the older witch nearly trips on the runner rug under her feet as her autopilot kicks in - the only thing she can even think to do is find her wife. 

 

She does, in the bathroom. Misty’s hugging the toilet bowl, her entire frame moves with her heaving. Fingers try to dig into the white porcelain -  _ She’s crying, why is she crying?  _ There’s horrible sobs coming out, like she can’t catch her breath. Cordelia hurries to pull her hair up, holds the thick blonde curls and gets a better view of the Cajun’s face. Her eyes are red, something the color of greenish-yellow dribbles off her lower lip, Misty’s cheeks shine with salty tears. 

 

“Misty -  _ Misty.  _ What happened?” Cordelia feels so helpless, tugging on her wife’s shirt like a toddler trying to get their mother’s attention by grabbing the fabric of her skirts. She notices, the way Misty’s hair feels damp in her palm; why is she sweating? The hand that rubbed comforting circles on the other woman’s back moves, places itself across her forehead. The Supreme gasps, her eyes widen. “You’re burning up, baby.”

 

Misty breathes through her mouth, her cheeks puff with her exhales; the sour smell of vomit assaulting Cordelia’s nose. “‘Delia,” She hiccups, her wrist comes up to wipe her chin but Cordelia catches her arm. Reaches to the sink to grab blindly for a towel. The rough cotton swipes at her face as gently as the older witch can make it; Cordelia’s lips press reassuring kisses to her temple as she cleans her up. When the mess is gone, the other blonde cups her wobbling chin. Working up the energy to say it, Misty’s words come out as a mumbled, “My stomach hurts, ‘Delia.” 

 

_ Don’t panic, you can’t panic. It’s going to make her feel worse.  _ “Are you -  _ baby,  _ stop crying - are you done? Do you want to go back to bed?” Cordelia’s eyes water, though she tries not to let them. With the towel discarded somewhere nearby to be cleaned later, her hands run over the heated skin of Misty’s arms. The light above them burns too brightly, it makes Misty squint. “I can make you some tea, and call the doctor.”

 

“Don’t wanna move.” Misty murmurs, she turns though, reaches for Cordelia to steady her as she pulls her knees up and stands. The tile floor feels like ice under her much warmer than usual feet, like walking across snow, even Cordelia’s fingers on her skin feel chilly.  _ Something’s wrong, something is horribly wrong.  _ Her insides twist, like a rag getting wrung out. The swamp witch swallows her fear, she tells her partner in a scared whisper, “I haven’t felt her kickin’ since I woke up.”

 

“She’s sleeping.” It sounds more like Cordelia trying to convince herself, as she leads her wife back to their room. The long stretch of the hallway seems to have doubled in length, but by the time they reach the open door, Misty’s eyes keep drifting shut - her breathing evening out. “You need to sleep, too.”

 

The covers are kicked off the mattress, and the older witch thanks whatever might be listening that Misty’s eyes are shutting with tiredness as she sits down on the mattress - it leaves her unaware of the way Cordelia’s face pales as she looks down at the Cajun’s gray, fleece sleep pants and the large, darkening crimson stain in the crotch. _This isn’t happening, this is_ ** _not_** _happening._

 

“Misty,” Cordelia stops herself, swipes at her own cheeks to clear the silent drops that leak from her eyes. As much as she tries though, the  _ fear  _ clings to her voice as she urges the younger blonde, “Misty, I need you to stand up, we’re going to the hospital.”

 

“The hospital?” 

 

“You’re bleeding - no,  _ no,”  _ She catches Misty’s face with both her palms, waiting for the other woman’s eyes to blink open at her after she whimpers at the new information, “It could be nothing, okay? You need to stand up for me.” 

 

There’s the added weight of five months of pregnancy when Cordelia loops her arms under Misty’s and lifts, she steadies her on her feet. “I need, I need to get Zoe to drive us.”  _ The last thing they need is a car accident,  _ the older witch sniffles, she backs off one step, two steps. Misty’s standing fine though, her palm coming up to touch the underside of her belly. There’s four seconds, Cordelia thinks, that it takes her to turn and grab the cellphone off the nightstand (she doesn’t really care which one of theirs it is).

 

By the time she turns back, Misty’s head is already tilting back, her legs then bend. The phone drops from her hand, tumbles to the ground without a second thought. Cordelia’s yelp is too loud in her own ears, it draws the attention of someone in the hall. The Supreme doesn’t look at them though, she rushes forward and catches Misty by her midsection, grunting as she stops the other woman’s fall. Cordelia can’t completely stop her descent to the floor, but she eases her unconscious wife down, rolls her onto her back and brushes back her blonde hair, pushing the wild strands away from closed eyes. Her own breath hiccups, she kneels next to her and tries to shake her awake by the shoulders.  _ Wake up.  _ The shadow at the door - Madison - steps closer. Cordelia can barely make her own through her own glassy vision as she shouts at her shocked student, 

 

“Call a  _ Goddamn  _ ambulance!”

  
  



	8. Eight

The fluorescent lights of the small hospital room were not helping the stress headache growing behind Cordelia’s forehead. She closed her eyes and stretched her neck before turning to look at her sleeping wife, glancing down at their intertwined fingers resting on the scratchy blanket, dragging her gaze along Misty’s arm until she saw the IV bag attached to the crook of her elbow. Another wave of concern flushed through her and she furrowed her brows before turning toward Madison who was pacing in the doorway.  

 

“God, how long does it take for a doctor to get in here? I’ve died and come back faster than this! _Twice!_ ” Madison ranted, continuing to walk around the room, angrily waving her hands as she did so.

 

Cordelia sighed and ran the fingers of her free hand through her hair, taking a deep breath in and looking up at the young witch. “Madison, you really don’t have to stay,” she insisted, hoping the girl would leave so she could finally have some quiet.

 

Madison stopped and dropped her hands to her side, glancing at the still sleeping witch. “I haven’t waited on the rat for an _hour_ just to leave before the doctor even gets here,” she said, trying to mask her own worry with a roll of her eyes. “Let me go talk to the nurse again.”

 

Knowing that “talk” meant insult and scream at, Cordelia decided it was best to let her go. She let go of Misty’s hand to stand up and shift the uncomfortable hospital chair closer to the bed, sitting back down and threading their fingers together again. She moved her free hand to settle on the bump, stroking her fingertips gently down it to feel the life growing inside of her wife, and knowing _she_ was alright too brought her some comfort.

 

With her eyes still trained on her stomach, she almost didn’t notice the slight shift of her wife’s fingers around her own. Almost. She squeezes back instantly, moving her gaze to settle on Misty’s eyes, squinted against the harsh lighting.

 

“Misty?” she said softly, moving her free hand to brush against her soft curls. The younger woman’s eyes fell shut again, her hand coming up to touch her face, but stopping and groaning when she tugged on her IV. “Misty, baby, be careful, you have an IV in you,” Cordelia said, gently touching her forearm to get her to lay it back down. She groaned softly before looking up at Cordelia, her eyes widening slightly when she took in her surroundings.

 

“Delia?” she croaked, straining to sit up slightly before giving up and laying back again. “Is the baby alright?”

 

Cordelia sighed lightly, moving her hand back to Misty’s stomach to rest her hand on it. “Well, dear, that’s what we’re trying to find out,” she responded quietly, hoping to keep Misty calm. When her wife failed to answer, she looked up from her tummy to see Misty staring straight up at the ceiling, tears flowing from the corners of her eyes and down her temples, into her hair. Cordelia leaned forward and brushed them away with the pads of her fingers, feeling her heart break in her chest at the look of complete helplessness on her wife’s face.

 

“Oh, baby, I’m sorry, I'm sure she’s just fine,” Cordelia soothed, moving her hands from the sides of Misty’s face to thread in her curls. Misty’s face softened a little at the mention of _she_ , her eyes tilting up at the corners lightly before she remembered the severity of the situation. Her eyes settled back to their previous scrunched with worry state. Before the younger blonde could open her mouth to speak, the door was flung open, making her jump.

 

“Fucking _finally_ ,” Madison said loudly, marching into the room with a doctor in tow. The man had an annoyed look, obviously ticked off about being dragged around by a tiny, young blonde. Cordelia sat up eagerly, a look of hope crossing her face as she smiled up at the doctor. Yanking his arm out of Madison’s grasp, he crossed the small room toward Misty’s bedside, glancing down at her before looking at his clipboard.

 

“What seems to be the problem?” he asked, looking between the couple, pen poised in the air, ready to scribble notes down. Misty stayed silent, ignoring Cordelia’s slightly prodding gaze, looking up to the ceiling letting the bright lights sting her eyes.

 

Clearing her suddenly tight throat, Cordelia narrows her eyes at the medical professional. He’s young, his face still rounded and soft, with a clean shave. The name badge is too far away for her to read it without her glasses, but it looks short. The air about him is sour - a fresh out of school doctor, stuck down in the emergency room. The white coat he wears is practically blinding in the harsh lighting.

 

“Doctor-” Cordelia starts, she’s cut off though, by Madison’s impatient voice.

 

“ _What seems to be the problem?”_ the youngest witch mimics, a grimace on her pink, glossed lips. “The _problem_ is we’ve been here _forever.”_ Madison gestures to the bed, to Misty’s figure, “Thank fuck she wasn’t giving birth right now, the baby would of started _kindergarten_ by now. I don’t know who stocked the hospital water coolers with _dumb_ bitch juice but you need to fix her _now.”_

 

The doctor - his eyes widened in shock at Madison’s anger, at her approaching proximity, her short stature staring up at him with defiance. “I was busy with other patients,” he defends himself, choosing to ignore Madison’s glaring, stepping into the room, he stands at the foot of Misty’s bed. “I understand it can be rather annoying, waiting, but Mrs. Goode-”

 

He looks at Cordelia, a long breath taken before he tells her, “There simply is nothing wrong with your wife, _or_ your child.” The chart in his hands, pages flipping over as he looks through them, “Everything’s perfectly stable, the baby’s heartbeat is strong. All the tests, ma’am, there isn’t any cause for concern here.”

 

“But the bleeding,” Cordelia reminds, somehow both _relieved_ and even more worried than before. _What happened then, if nothing caused it?_ “She was bleeding, and she fainted. There _had_ to have been something.”

 

“Spotting is normal during pregnancy,” his tone is very condescending, it makes Cordelia bristle, squeeze Misty’s fingers tighter in her own, “The fainting - she’s probably tired, or dehydrated.” His head turns to Misty, he waits, expects her to look back at him instead of up. She doesn’t, of course. Her eyes flick back and forth as she counts the pebbled dots of the ceiling.

 

(His eyes roll, and if Cordelia was a bit more emotionally stable, she’d of used her magic to make him wish he didn’t even _look_ at her wife.)

 

“First time mothers have the tendency to be over dramatic, I find.” He chuckles, _laughs_ as he straightens out the papers, a sort of finalness to his voice as he comments, “With two of them, I’d expect it to double, too.” He clasps the board to the end of the bed, his hands dive into his pockets.  He smiles at them - it doesn’t even fall when neither of the women return it. “I’ll have the nurse get you the paperwork but, I think you both are fine to leave.”

 

Misty doesn’t look _fine,_ she’s got a sort of look across her face that scares Cordelia, reminds her of dark, cold days that lacked any of the younger woman’s usual charm. But the baby is okay, Misty is _okay._ She can deal with anything else, she can help her wife through that blackness.

 

She has before.

 

* * *

  


The unsettled feeling in the pit of her stomach wouldn’t budge no matter how many times she chanted in her head, _they’re fine, they’re fine, they’re fine._ Even as she helped her wife trudge up the stairs toward their bedroom, as she helped her pull on a soft cotton t-shirt that may or may not have come out of one of Cordelia’s own drawers, as she tucked her wife under the comforter and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, even as she did everything that came to her mind to ease Misty’s nerves, she couldn’t shake the feeling that _something_ was missing.

 

Perched on her side of their bed, she wrung her hands together, trying to pinpoint what exactly was causing the feeling that wouldn’t leave her. She glanced over her shoulder at Misty, who had already dozed off again after the stress of the afternoon. Her heart warming at the sight of Misty looking at peace finally, she smiled gently and leaned over to pull the blanket tighter around her wife. Sitting back up, she looked toward the window, taking note of the darkness outside, causing her own reflection to peer back at her against the glass. _Madison was right. That doctor really did take forever._

 

Inhaling with a shaky breath, she stretched out and leaned down to take off her shoes. The feeling inside of her still not leaving even as she closed her eyes and repeated the fact that _Misty is okay._ Their baby -their _daughter_ \- is okay. She stood up, deciding that maybe a cup of hot tea would calm her down enough for sleep, at least somewhat, and looked to her sleeping wife once more before leaving the room and carefully pulling the door shut behind her with a quiet click.

 

In the kitchen, sitting at the island with a steaming cup of tea, she had to admit, she did feel a _little_ bit better. She just couldn’t stop the replaying of the afternoon in her head, the feeling of falling when she thought they might be losing her, their daughter. _Or worse, if she had lost Misty again._ With another sip of tea and a shake of her head, she began to think of the doctor’s words and then of their baby's heartbeat. Strong, he had said. She’s a fighter, too.

 

Standing to move to the sink and rinse out her cup, she jumps at the figure standing in the doorway. “Misty?” she asks, confused as to why her wife was awake again. “Is something wrong, baby?”

 

With a shake of the younger blondes head, she bit her lip softly and walked slowly toward Cordelia, reaching her and wrapping her arms around her middle, resting her head on the Supreme’s shoulder and letting out a shaky breath.

 

“I just couldn’t sleep without you, Delia,” she whispered softly against the fabric of Cordelia’s shirt, nuzzling her face into the crook of her wife’s neck.

 

Despite the sad tone to Misty’s voice, Cordelia couldn’t help but smile softly, not hesitating to reciprocate the embrace, running the palm of one hand down the younger witch’s back.

 

“Well, why don’t we fix that?”

 

Back in bed, Cordelia stared at Misty’s relaxed face, her eyes shut, the contrast of her dark lashes against her pale skin. She scooted closer and rest one cold hand carefully on the warmth of the other woman’s cheek, letting out a shuddering breath and closing her eyes softly. “I can’t lose you again,” she whispered into the silence.

 

Without a moment of hesitation, Misty brought one hand up to rest on top Cordelia’s.

 

“I know.”

  
  



	9. Nine

The book resting atop Cordelia’s thighs, her legs outstretched in front of her on the bed, back against the headboard as she sits and reads; one hand turning pages, the other resting gently on her wife’s stomach. Misty’s laying properly on the bed, her fingers above her head and twisting her rings, scowling at the jewelry as she fiddles with it. 

 

The heading of the page she reads,  **_Week 21_ ** _ ,  _ stands in bold print against the white paper, little cartoon baby blocks and a pastel giraffe framing the title.  _ She’s been so quiet,  _ it’s like a blanket of eeriness has covered the academy, ushered in on the news of Misty’s hospital trip and held in place by the swamp witch’s silence. The harmonies of  _ Fleetwood Mac  _ don’t drift down the hallways, the sound of her humming in the greenhouse is absent.  _ Misty is too,  _ Cordelia grimaces at the thought that Misty hasn’t wandered down to the greenhouse since they’ve come home,  _ she’s secluded herself in this room.  _

 

“Hey,” Cordelia taps against her wife’s belly, gaining her attention, “She can hear us now.” The information  _ does  _ make Misty’s smile come out, her eyes squinting slightly as her cheeks get pushed up, “You should play her some music, maybe sing some  _ Stevie,  _ huh?”

 

Misty’s face falls, and it takes Cordelia’s rising mood with it. The older woman’s shoulders droop, she plays idly with the edge of the page, flicking the paper back and forth over and over. “I don’t feel very much like it right now, Dee,” Misty’s nose pressed into Cordelia’s side, nuzzles into her hip as she curls up toward Cordelia, “Maybe later.” 

 

“Still not feeling very well?” Cordelia questions, shifting enough to easily wrap her arm around Misty’s shoulder’s. She brushes the honey blonde hair from the younger woman’s eyes, looking into the sleepy blue pools. Cordelia’s fingers twirl around a curl, wrapping itself up in its softness. She feels, more than sees Misty nod, and tells her, “I’m sorry, baby.”

 

The lack of Misty’s normally  _ loud  _ self is deafening - twirling and singing and talking to all the plants in their greenhouse because,  _ Miss Cordelia,  _ as Misty has told her endlessly,  _ all they need is a little kindness and water to grow.  _ The swamp witch - she’s a lot like those plants, she needs to be  _ loved  _ to really flourish. 

 

(When Misty returned from Hell - when her form was haloed in light and she stepped back into Cordelia’s life at the same time she stepped back into the coven, she didn’t talk very much. All her movements had a flightiness to them, like a bird ready to fly off at the first sign of danger. This is a dark reminder of those memories; though Misty’s not crying over night terrors now, she’s still sniffling into the silk of Cordelia’s blouse, she’s still somewhat  _ gone. _ )

 

So Cordelia mirrors what she did then - it feels like it was so  _ long  _ ago, but it wasn’t, the three years she’s been here, in Cordelia’s arms has gone by faster than the one she was missing from. The older blonde, she shuffles out of bed, looks guilty at Misty as the other witch groans at the loss of her body heat. 

 

She’s been running a temperature, but the Cajun shakes with chills, wraps herself in thick blankets.  _ It’s normal,  _ the doctor’s assured, rambled on about pregnancy and hormones and rising body heat. “You need to eat,” Cordelia tells her, knows before her wife even answers that’ll she’ll protest, “ _ Misty,  _ you’re pregnant, you  _ need  _ to eat.” 

 

“‘M not hungry.” Misty rolls, onto her back; the sheets curl around her limbs,  _ you can’t keep anything down. You haven’t eaten more than toast in the past three days,  _ Cordelia bites her nails. The normally light atmosphere of their room - Misty’s  _ Fleetwood Mac  _ posters, the floral wall art Cordelia fits anywhere she can, and greenery scattered around in clay pots - it’s bleak, now. Like the colors are all muted, like the windows can’t let in enough light. 

 

“I’ll make you pancakes, with the bananas.” For some reason, her eyes mist over, thinking of making the same breakfast not too long ago.  _ How come it’s always us?  _ Cordelia bites her lip; the universe has a way with them, a method for picking out the worst  _ possible  _ scenarios and stamping her and Misty’s names on them with bold, red ink. “Will you promise me, to try to eat them?”

 

A long, drawn out quiet. Broken by Misty’s drawl, “I’ll try.”

 

* * *

  
  


Pans toppling onto each other, rolling out of the cabinet and sounding loudly on the floor, Cordelia’s jittering hands unable to stop the avalanche of cookware. “Damn it,” she swears under her breath, “ _ Damn  _ it.” 

 

“Need some help?” Queenie’s voice so close by, having approached without being noticed, makes Cordelia flinch. Her head bounces against the ledge of the countertop, palm coming up to apply pressure to the blooming pain. Her eyes water, and Queenie’s hand lays on her bicep supportingly, “Shit, Cordelia, you okay?” 

_ No, I’m not.  _ Her nerves feel frazzled, her heart feels sore, the excitement of expecting is covered, put on the back burner by the looming dangers of pregnancy.  _ She isn’t even born yet,  _ Cordelia thinks bitterly,  _ and I already haven’t protected her well enough.  _ Looking at Queenie’s worried eyes, a dark voice blurs her thoughts -  _ Fiona sure was right, what a failure.  _

 

“I’m fine,” She decides to lie, having the reason of not wanting to scare her council member. Queenie though - Queenie can see through any bullshit told to her, and she narrows her eyes at her Supreme, at her friend. “I just - Misty isn’t doing any better. It’s been a week, and she has barely gotten out of bed.” The pots and pans on the floor feel like they’re laughing at her, “I’m so useless, she’s going through  _ all  _ of this, and I can’t even make her pancakes without messing it up.”

 

“Maybe there’s something that can help her, with magic-”

 

“I’m  _ not  _ using magic.” Cordelia doesn’t  _ mean _ to sound so angry, so rash. Guilt rushes her, pool coldly in her chest. “I’m sorry, I just… Magic never fixes anything, it only makes it worse.” 

 

“Magic sure fixed a lot of us.” Queenie reminds her, she takes the pan that the older witch lifts from the floor, one hand resting in between Cordelia’s shoulder blades. The door opens, and chatter from the flood of students coming home from school fills the silence of the house. “Magic made Misty pregnant, right?”

 

Cordelia feels a headache forming, for what feels like the millionth time this week alone. “ _ Exactly. _ ” The Supreme stresses, letting Queenie urge her to sit down, “What if that’s why this is all happening? What if  _ I’m  _ the reason Misty’s suffering?”  _ She wanted a baby for me,  _ the thought is bitter, biting into her and unable to be shaken,  _ she’s in danger again because of me.  _

 

“You just relax, I’ll cook for you.” 

 

Before - when her life was a mess of Hank and Fiona and blindness, Misty had only attempted the Seven Wonders because Cordelia pushed her.  _ Is this just their relationship repeating itself?  _ Was Misty only having a baby for Cordelia, putting her life at risk  _ again  _ for her? 

 

_ I can’t lose her again,  _ a few girls filter into the kitchen, they grin as they pass Cordelia. She offers a false sort of smile back, watches them blankly raid the fridge as Queenie starts the stove. The memories of her life  _ without  _ Misty - they all seem so bleak, so repetitive. It feels like a corny movie, when she thinks of it that way, that  _ Misty  _ is what makes her feel alive. 

 

(Twirling together to  _ Gold Dust Woman  _ in their greenhouse, cooking dinner for the entire coven together on Sundays, the notes Misty leaves on the mirror to greet Cordelia after she steps out of the shower; the very  _ idea  _ of those little pieces missing from her life, it turns her stomach and her heart aches.) 

 

* * *

  
  
  


The plate in her hand threatens to tip right over and clatter to the floor as Cordelia pushes open the bedroom door; pancakes weighing it down to lean away from her. The older witch bites her tongue between her teeth, catching it just before it hits that point where it  _ will  _ fall. Misty is where she left her, though her chest rises and falls steadily with sleep. Sleeping, the sadness of her expression melts off, and Cordelia sets the meal down on the side table to simply  _ look  _ at her wife for a moment. 

 

Her nose twitches, Misty’s on her side, snuggling with Cordelia’s pillow. A smirk tugs at the Supreme’s lips, glancing over the shirt ridden up, the way her pajama pants have bunched up on one the leg all the way to the knee. Like this - Misty’s worries are absent,  _ I wish I could take them all away.  _ Cordelia brushes the tips of her fingers through thick, honey blonde curls,  _ you don’t deserve any of them.  _

 

“Hey, wake up.” She hums, though her efforts to actually bring Misty back to consciousness aren’t quite urgent. The lashes of the swamp witch’s eyes flutter, she groans but tips into Cordelia’s touch - her cheek nuzzles into the dip of the other woman’s palm, the smell of Cordelia’s perfume on her wrist making Misty grin airily, 

 

“Mornin’.” 

 

“It’s not  _ morning  _ anymore,” Cordelia corrects her, the digital display of their seldom used alarm clock reading one in the afternoon; both of them usually rise with the sun. “But, you do have a  _ delicious  _ breakfast to eat.” 

 

Misty lets out a solid  _ oof  _ as Cordelia’s palms side up her sides, tugging at her until she relents - opens her eyes and pushes the older woman’s arranging hands away. “I can sit up by myself,” The Cajun, she enjoys the blush the teasing causes to color Cordelia’s cheeks, “I might be gettin’ heavier, but I ain’t  _ that  _ big.” 

 

Misty’s belly hasn’t grown  _ too  _ much, but she is noticeably clumsier, bumping into things - kicking her heels into the mattress as she pushes herself up to sit cross-legged on the bed. Her hair is a  _ mess,  _ tangled with both sleep and a lack of getting out of bed. The frizzly locks tug at Cordelia’s heart strings, and she stands to both hand her wife the plate, and to start toward the master bathroom. 

 

The first bite of pancake is in sync with the sink cabinet opening, Misty chewing slowly around the bite. She frowns down at her breakfast,  _ that’s weird.  _ The sweetest of sliced banana is rivaled by a peppery, warm type of flavor that coats the inside of her mouth. “‘Delia?” There’s a bustle of noise and movement in the bathroom, accompanied by Cordelia’s affirming sound of her listening, “This tastes funny.”

 

The pads of Cordelia’s feet tap back to the bed, it squeaks lightly as she kneels behind Misty, sitting atop her folded legs. Misty’s apprehensive face stares down at her lap, over the floral design of her plate, eyes following the green leaves on the ceramic that frame her food. All her puzzled thinking over the odd kick to the pancakes are momentarily forgotten when the first drag of the brush Cordelia had gone searching for drags through her hair in the back, catching quickly on a tangle. 

 

“Let me do it,” The older witch mildly knocks away Misty’s fingers grabbing at her hair to relieve some of the sting. The younger blonde  yields enough to let Cordelia continue, mostly in part to catch the dish on her lap so it doesn’t spill into a sticky mess in the sheets.  _ Stop trying to do everything yourself,  _ though Misty’s finally found her  _ tribe  _ as she calls it, the younger woman still has her habits from years of isolation; first, surrounded by those who not only didn’t  _ understand  _ her but also condemned something beyond her own control, and then in the solitude of her swamp. Misty, at her very core, is very independent. 

 

(She’s also warm, and good-hearted - Misty  _ thrives  _ with people around her to support her, to bask in her hospitable nature, but also to reel the swamp witch in when her strings loosen too much.) 

 

“Let me take  _ care  _ of you,” Cordelia stresses the point of her sentence, considerately gathering a handful of Misty’s hair as to lessen the irritation on her wife’s scalp as she runs the bristles through thick curls, the strands softening as the knots give way under the attention. “ _ Eat.  _ Queenie made it, she put fresh ginger in the batter, to help with your stomach upsets.” 

 

“I don’t know why I’m still gettin’ sick, ‘Delia.”  _ Ginger,  _ Misty reluctantly breaks off more one the fluffy, golden pancake, syrup making her fingertips tacky. With the stickiness of maple coating it, the spicy flavor is muted, but it still makes her pout. “Little bug must not like me very much.” 

 

_ Little bug,  _ it’s the first time Misty’s referred to the baby in a context that wasn’t  _ scared  _ in a whole week. Cordelia’s heart flutters, she tries not to let her repetitive brushing motions pause and alert the younger woman to her shock. She counts to five, in her head, so her words don’t rush out of her when she suggests, “Maybe she’s angry we’ve been calling her a bug?”

 

Misty  _ laughs  _ \- it’s soft, it’s quick, but her shoulders jump and Cordelia hears a smile that lights up the room. The dark gloom that enclosed on the space cracks, like a light flickering on in the dark. 

 

“You know,” Cordelia starts, testing the waters with a tentative push, “We could start thinking of names now,” The curtain of Misty’s hair falls more orderly now, the older woman tosses the brush aside. Her chin nestles into the dip of Misty’s neck as she pulls the blonde curls to the other side, and the skin there smells of sweat and  _ Misty;  _ a unique woodsy fragrance that clings to the necromancer. “She’s going to be here sooner than we think.” 

 

She holds her breath, lets herself listen to the steady rhythm of her wife’s breathing,  _ what’s she going to do?  _ It’s frightening - not knowing what reaction to prepare for. The worst catalog themselves neatly in Cordelia’s mind,  _ she’s going to cry, she might be angry, what if she doesn’t say anything at all?  _ It’s so preoccupying, the thinking about Misty’s next words, she nearly misses them.

 

“Stevie?” 

 

“ _ Stevie?”  _ Cordelia can’t help but repeat, somehow shocked but  _ of course  _ Misty would pick that. It makes her tilt her head, thinking over the idea with a slight apprehension, “That’s a nice name, I think, but…” 

 

“It’s okay,” Misty says, with a lightness she’s lacked over the past few days. “We don’t gotta name her after Stevie, but-” She interrupts Cordelia’s thankful sigh, “I was goin’ to ask, if we could give her the same middle name,  _ Lynn.  _ It’s awful pretty, don’t you think?”  _ Lynn,  _ it is pretty. Cordelia nods against her wife’s shoulder, a slight grin on her features. 

 

“I like that.” The older witch agrees, thinking of a chubby little baby, hands grabbing at Misty’s shawl tassels for little fistfuls of strings.  _ Will she look like her?  _ God, Cordelia hopes so - a little curly blonde running after butterflies in the greenhouse, with blue eyes and faint freckles. The supreme thinks of their spell - of her own blood running through that little life, and frowns. She never thought of herself as  _ beautiful,  _ Fiona had always commented on her looks; her nose a little too blunt, her eyes too ordinary, hair lacking any natural curl. 

 

Misty, on the other hand, imagines a little one with brown, caring eyes, with Cordelia’s smile - with her wife’s rounded jaw and  _ bravery.  _ It’s something she herself lacked; that fearlessness to take care of the coven. She’d much rather protect herself and her wife and her  _ child  _ over the entire magical community.  _ Cordelia cares for them all like her family,  _ and while the Cajun finds herself unable to ever really fit  _ in  _ with the witches around her (always too loud, too rough,  _ unpolished _ ) she can’t deny the love she feels for all her sisters. 

 

“Lily?” Cordelia offers, though even her own face shows indifference to the name, “Do you think floral names are a bit too predictable?”

 

“River?”

 

“ _ Winter?”  _

 

“We’re not gonna get anywhere this way, are we, darlin’?” Misty turns, it makes Cordelia pick her chin up and back off just a bit.  _ She’s still sad,  _ is what the older woman notes in her wife’s features, but her mouth has a smooth, happy curve to it, her eyes don’t look as dull. The swamp witch rests her forehead on Cordelia’s, their height difference fixed by the slight lean it takes Misty to do it. 

 

“No, we’re not.” Cordelia agrees. This close - she can count the thick eyelashes, the sweetness of maple coming off Misty’s breath and filling her senses. She relents to her own wants, and lays a soft, quick kiss on the stickiness of the younger woman’s lips. “How about instead of this,” She starts, lets her hand curls over and trace shapes into Misty’s bump through the fabric of her shirt, “We both write a list, of names we like, and we’ll pick from the names that we both wrote down.” 

 

Misty returns her little peck, though she misses, and it lands against the softness of Cordelia’s cheek. “That’s a great idea, Dee.” She does it again, planting one at the corner of her wife’s mouth. The flavor of Cordelia’s peach chapstick makes her lick her lips after, and Misty leans into the older witch out of sleepiness. “How’d I get so lucky to hook someone so smart, huh?”

 

“I could say the same about  _ you,  _ you know.” 

 

“ _ No,  _ I really mean it,” Misty’s voice lowers, the change that she knows will make Cordelia pay closer attention, to really listen to her words, “You got your books, and you know what to do when things get scary... And I wanna tell you ‘Delia, I’m glad I got to do this with you.” 

 

Two arms come up, and the plate on Misty’s lap starts sliding off to the point Cordelia catches it with her powers, guiding it safety to the floor instead of shattering there. Misty’s embrace is tight, the belly in between them providing enough of an obstacle already - she burrows into the Supreme’s neck, she doesn’t sniffle or cry.

 

Cordelia thinks of it now and cannot imagine a time she wanted a baby with anyone else; a time when she wanted anyone else at  _ all.  _ She doesn’t think there could be anyone who would be a better mother than Misty, with all the love she carries on her sleeve.  _ What did I do to deserve you? _

 

“I love you, you know that right?” Cordelia asks,  _ how can you possibly comprehend how much?  _ When she looks at Misty, it’s like looking at the eighth wonder of the world; she can find constellations in the freckles of her nose and chest, Cordelia counts the universes in her eyes - Misty Day is her  _ world,  _ and there’s no conceivable way she knows the extent of it. 

 

(She does - Misty can  _ feel  _ it in each kiss, in each touch. She  _ does _ , because she her heart warms at the melody of Cordelia’s voice, she maps the flecks of gold in Cordelia’s eyes, how the color - the prettiest dark amber she’s ever seen, it’s the kindest pair Misty’s ever been graced with seeing, with falling in love with.) 

 

“I know,  _ we  _ know.” The flutter of kicks in her tummy, deep and barely there but  _ there  _ and alive and reminding her. “I love you too, so  _ much.  _ We’re gonna be okay?”

 

“Yeah, we will.” 

  
  
  



	10. Ten

The air inside of the grocery store was chilly, goosebumps raising on Cordelia’s exposed arms. She pushed the cart along, ignoring the squeaking of one of the wheels, and looked down at her list clutched in her hand. Misty walked beside her, dragging her feet and wringing her hands together. 

 

“I’m glad you came with me,” Cordelia said softly, looking at Misty and bumping gently against her with her hip. 

 

“It’s not like you gave me much of a choice,” Misty responded, a tinge of annoyance coloring her voice as she recalled how Cordelia had practically begged her to come with her to the store. 

 

“I know you don’t want to be out and about, Mist, but it’s been  _ weeks, _ ” she said, walking the cart into an aisle before continuing, “We had to leave sometime.” 

 

Sighing heavily, Misty decided not to argue with her. She knew, deep down, that Cordelia was right. She couldn’t stay holed up in their bedroom for the rest of her pregnancy. But a part of her wanted to stay wrapped in their blankets and keep their baby safe. Their  _ daughter  _ safe. 

 

Cordelia interrupted her thoughts with a brush of her fingers on her upper arm. “Do you want to pick?” she asked, gesturing to the boxes of cereals up and down the aisle they were standing in. Raising her eyebrows, she looked at her wife. 

 

“Do I  _ really _ get to pick, or are you gonna make me get Raisin Bran again?” Misty said, wrinkling her nose at the thought of the taste.  _ It’s for the baby, _ Cordelia would always insist when Misty wanted to get something full of sugar. 

 

“Anything you want, dear,” Cordelia replied, smiling at her wife, hoping to cheer her up even the tiniest bit with her favorite cereal. Moving towards the shelves, she picks up a box of Lucky Charms and sets them in the cart, smiling at Cordelia softly. 

 

The little smile on her wife’s mouth brought a surge of hope to Cordelia’s chest, her own grin spreading on her face. Any sign of happiness on Misty made her heart soar, she longed for her wife’s normally sunny disposition back. She would get there again, she knew. It was just so hard to see her hiding in their room all hours of the day. Misty, unaware to the thoughts of her wife, looked up expectantly at her. 

 

“Is that all we need from this aisle?” 

 

Nodding and looking back down at their scrawled list, she began to push the cart out of the aisle, smile never fading. 

 

* * *

  
  
  


Misty’s ringed fingers fiddled with the buttons on the radio, changing the stations to find something she liked. A light smile still rested on Cordelia’s face, lingering from the seeming improvement of Misty’s mood. The younger blonde finally settled on a station, sitting back in her seat and withdrawing her hand. The comfortable quiet didn’t last long, Misty sat up abruptly with both hands on her stomach and looked at Cordelia. 

 

“Delia, pull over please,” she whispered, glancing down at her stomach. 

 

“What’s wrong, are you going to be sick?” Cordelia asked, her brows pulling down in concern as she looked over her wife. 

 

“Please, just pull over, now.” 

 

With the car stopped, Cordelia shifted toward Misty, leaning forward to rest her hand on her shoulder. “Misty, what’s wrong?” she asked frantically, worry giving her voice a higher pitch. 

 

Neglecting to give a verbal answer, Misty moved and took one of Cordelia’s hands gently, resting it below her own on top of her belly. Cordelia’s eyebrows scrunched together again, this time in confusion. But when she felt a  _ thud _ against her palm, the confusion melted away and her heart fell into her stomach. Her mouth widened with the realization, and she leaned forward to press both of her hands on Misty’s stomach. 

 

“I can feel her!” she exclaimed, tears in her brown eyes welling up and spilling over her lashes. 

 

Giggling, Misty let go of Cordelia’s hand to brush her caramel locks out of her face, and brushing her thumb along her cheekbone. “I know! That’s why I had you pull over, I knew you’d cry.” Misty said, shifting forward to press her lips against Cordelia’s nose. 

 

Cordelia let out a breathy laugh, looking down at her wife’s stomach again, the kicking inside of her stomach making her heart swell up, threatening to burst altogether. She moved her head down and slid her hands off of Misty’s belly, pressing her cheek against her. She felt fingers tangle in her hair as her tears of joy soaked through Misty’s shirt. 

 

Gently moving her hands out of her hair, Misty cupped Cordelia’s jaw and pulled her face up toward her own. Brushing her lips softly against Cordelia’s, she smiled into the kiss and whispered against her mouth. 

 

“Let’s go home.” 

 

* * *

 

The door to the academy swung open, cloth grocery bags weighing down Cordelia’s wrists as she stepped inside. The smile hadn’t left her face and the happy buzz in her chest hadn’t dissipated. Misty followed closely behind her, several bags in tow, playfully kicking the backs of Cordelia’s heels, making the older woman giggle. 

 

“Miss Cordelia?” A voice interrupted their banter, and Cordelia stopped in front of Queenie, Misty bumping her gently before stepping beside her. 

 

“Hi, Queenie,” she replied, taking note of the worried look on the girl’s face. “What can I do for you?” 

 

“There’s someone here, well - someone I asked here. To see you. And Misty,” she explained, gesturing to the living room behind her and turning to look over her shoulder. 

 

“Who?” 

 

“Someone who can help.” Queenie said, before looking at Misty, smiling sympathetically, and turning to walk to the staircase. 

 

“Queenie, who’s here?” Cordelia demanded, aggravation filling her voice.  _ I told her, no magic.  _

 

“Cordelia, just go talk to her.  _ Please.”  _ she replied, disappearing up the stairs. 

 

Sighing heavily, she turned to Misty, exasperation filling her. “Let’s go put these away first?” 

 

In the kitchen, putting groceries away, Cordelia looked Misty up and down. She had gotten paler, despite it being mid July, from staying inside all day. She seemed happier, but still slightly on edge. Like she was waiting for  _ something  _ to happen. For the other shoe to finally drop. Guilt flooded Cordelia, it was supposed to be  _ her _ protecting Misty and their unborn child. Not Misty protecting her and their daughter. She was the Supreme after all. Shouldn’t she be able to? With a shake of her head, as if that could get rid of all of the worries flowing through her, she decided they would give this magic lady a try. Nothing could be worse than living in this constant fear, right? 

 

With that thought in mind, Cordelia finished unloading the groceries and took Misty by the hand, leading her toward the living room. A vaguely familiar looking woman sat on one of the couches, her phone in hand, looking slightly on edge. “Cordelia Goode,” she said to the woman, holding her hand out to shake.

 

She stood and took her hand in her own, shaking it carefully. “Dinah Stevens,” she replied, glancing between both of the blonde women. “So I was told you’re having some sickness. I can help with that.”

 

Cordelia looked at the woman, a feeling of unease spreading through her chest.  _ Something isn’t right.  _ She looked back at Misty, meeting her blue eyes. She seemed to sense the tension rolling off of Cordelia, her eyes scrunched together with worry. She squeezed Misty’s hand softly, attempting to reassure her.

 

“What is it that you think you could do to help?” Cordelia asked. 

 

Ignoring her, Dinah stepped closer to Misty, hands reaching toward her belly. “May I?” she asked, ignoring the way Misty scooted closer to Cordelia, hands coming up instinctively to rest on her bump.

 

“I think you should leave,” Cordelia said, moving to stand in front of Misty, the unsettled feeling inside of her feeling like a sinking stone in the pit of her stomach, the offness of the situation making her worries run wild once again. 

 

When Dinah began to protest, Cordelia held her hand out, silencing her. “ _ Now _ .”

 

Dinah shrunk back at the harsh tone of the Supreme, nodding softly. “Could I at least use your bathroom?” 

 

Cordelia sighed, feeling slightly guilty at the way she had snapped.  _ Maybe she really was trying to help. Maybe you just ruined your only chance at helping Misty. _ “Yeah, go ahead.” 

 

Dinah sidestepped the both of them, leaving the living room to find the bathroom. Cordelia walked to the couch, sitting down and resting her head in her hand, closing her eyes to prevent the headache starting to form behind her eyes. The couch dipped under Misty’s weight as the younger blonde carefully sat next to her, sliding her hand under Cordelia’s hair to massage her neck gently with her fingertips. Cordelia let out a relaxed, the comfort of Misty’s touch instantly grounding her. 

 

“Somethin’ about that lady didn’t sit quite right with me, Delia.” Misty softly spoke, continuing to rub her neck. 

 

“Me neither,” Cordelia replied. Suddenly, she perked up, sitting straight, her eyes sparkling. 

 

“I know that look,” Misty said, giggling. “What are you thinkin?” 

 

Cordelia stood again, helping Misty to her feet, steadying her. “Why don’t we go out to the greenhouse? It’s been  _ forever _ and maybe I could show the bug a few things,” she said, touching her palm to the bump as she spoke. 

 

Laughing, Misty nodded, letting Cordelia walk her toward the door again. “Lead the way  _ Miss Cordelia _ ,” she teased, laughing harder at the way her wife gave her a dirty look over her shoulder and squeezing her hand in her own. “Lovebug could stand to learn a thing or two.” 

 

* * *

 

The humid air in the greenhouse, although sticky on her skin, filled Misty’s lungs and instantly lifted her mood. She sat on the table, swinging her bare feet and leaning back gently on her palms, watching her wife wander around the room and “show” the baby different things. Pointing towards another plant on a shelf, she opened her mouth to speak before Misty interrupted.    
  
“Y’know, Delia, she can’t actually see what you’re pointing to,” she said, setting one of her hands on the bump. Moving towards her, Cordelia smiled and pressed her own hand against Misty’s.   
  
“Yes, I know that, but she can hear me, can’t she?” Cordelia replied, smiling down at their joined hands on Misty’s stomach.    
  


Misty leaned forward, catching her wife’s lips in a gentle kiss, giggling into her mouth and slipping her fingers up into Cordelia’s hair. The older witch pulled back softly, bumping her nose against Misty’s before leaning down to place another kiss on her stomach. “You can hear me, can’t you baby?” she whispered down to the bump, receiving a scoff from Misty in response.

 

The gentle kick against her palm still took her by surprise, but she took it as confirmation nonetheless. “You see! She totally can.” she said, laughing again. Misty rolled her eyes teasingly and moved forward, pressing her lips into Cordelia’s hairline, hiding her smile. 

 

“I know, Delia.” 

 

Cordelia wrapped her arms around Misty’s lower back, slipping her head under the younger blondes chin, letting the content feeling in her chest soak through her. 

 

The smell of Misty’s hair, their shared vanilla shampoo, the way she had began humming unconsciously again, the life returned to her blue eyes, they pushed Cordelia past the point of ease. It all made her feel like she had returned  _ home. _

 

* * *

 

Standing at the sink, Cordelia spit the bubbles from her toothpaste into the the water, listening to her wife sing softly to herself in their bedroom. Twisting the knobs so the water shut off, she dried her face off and walked to the door, leaning against its frame to look at Misty. 

 

The younger blonde was writing something on a piece of paper, her face scrunched in concentration. 

 

“What are you writing there?” 

 

Misty looked up in surprise, quickly folding the paper up and stuffing it into the drawer in her nightstand. “Oh! Nothing,” Misty said, her cheeks reddening slightly. 

 

Cordelia laughed and moved toward the bed, crawling onto it toward her wife. “Mmhm.” 

 

Ignoring her, Misty leaned over and flicked the lamp off, engulfing the room in darkness. 

 

“No reading tonight?” Cordelia questioned, rolling over to sit up on her elbows. 

 

“Would you just hold me tonight darlin’?” Misty said softly, rolling onto her side and scooting back into Cordelia. 

 

The older blonde felt her heart flutter, smoothing Misty’s curls back, she pressed a kiss against the base of her neck. “Always,” she whispered, closing her eyes and slipping one of her legs between Misty’s to twist them together. 

 

_ Always. _


	11. Eleven

The reflection in the mirror feels like a familiar stranger - the weight gained in her face, the way her cheeks seem to shine under the bathroom lights. Cordelia’s book says something about increased oil and blood flow, but as Misty’s fingers poke into her cheekbone, she thinks it’s simply pregnancy  _ glow.  _ The fact there is a real, living child inside her is odd. Little kicking reminders as she leans down to cup a handful of water and splash it against her face with eyes screwed shut against the coldness.  Her palm smooths over her belly through her shirt, and Misty speaks out loud to the baby, “We’ve got a big day today, ‘lil  _ bebelle.”  _

 

If she listens hard enough, she can hear Cordelia’s voice on the phone in their bedroom - it drifts around the ajar bathroom door. She’s talking to the hospital, making sure she knows which floor and desk to talk to when they get there.  _ She’s so organized.  _ Misty’s nose snorts lightly in amusement at her wife’s endless questions.  _ What would I do without her?  _

 

Sitting on the sink counter is her tall, orange plastic pill container. The lid removed and only balanced atop of it.  _ She knows I have a hard time opening it by myself.  _ Misty bites her lip thoughtfully, a guilty look passing over her features as she picks up the bottle and lets the top rattle around in the sink bowl where it falls. The circular tablets are steadily getting lower and lower - Cordelia’s going to have to refill them again soon. Her rings make it tricky to fish out a white pill, the pale dusty residue of it sticks to her fingertips as she pinches it. Remorse rolls in her chest; Misty glances at the door as if checking to see if Cordelia could see - not that she  _ could.  _ Moving her hand over, the swamp witch watches with a sour conscience as the vitamin is released from her hold, watches it drop straight down into the half empty waste basket below. 

 

_ You’d only worry her.  _ Misty tries to make herself feel better for lying.  _ She’s already so frazzled,  _ adding the fact she’s been skipping her medically prescribed supplements would only darken the circles under Cordelia’s eyes. Besides, all God’s creatures are creating life everyday - the tiny alligator eggs and stray kittens and swamp critters are no different than her, why should she need the funny little pills? They make her feel off; they make everything blurry and her body burns with feverish chills. Misty’s sure they’ll be fine, given how many healthy, green foods Cordelia cooks on a daily basis. 

 

_ Food,  _ her stomach rumbles audibly. The sandals on her feet feel irregular compared to her usual boots as she steps out of the bathroom to find Cordelia putting her phone in her purse. She catches sight of her own joining it easily, the floral case brighter than Cordelia’s black one. The older woman puts it on her shoulder and smiles easily at Misty’s appearance. “Don’t you look cute today, huh?” 

 

An oversized  _ Fleetwood Mac  _ tour shirt, black pants with a stretchy waistband that clings to her tummy underneath the loose fabric of her top. It had arrived in the mail two days ago - along with a letter from Stevie giving her sincere congratulations. Cordelia grins at the outfit, and wonders how she’ll get Misty out of it long enough to run it through the laundry. Misty’s bracelets slide up her forearm as she raises her hand to fix one of the flyaways from Cordelia’s neatly combed hair. “I think you look quite pretty yourself, Dee.” 

 

“You always think that.”

 

“I’m always  _ right.”  _

 

Cordelia takes a deep, tensionless breath. The seemingly permanent fog of worry on her eyes has dampened; she doesn’t look fearful Misty will crack like porcelain with the smallest touch.  Her hip bumps against Misty’s playfully, “Come on, we’ll be late if we stand here complimenting each other.” She smirks at the younger woman’s lingering glances to her outfit - a black long sleeve top and flared matching skirt. “You can stare at me in the car.” 

 

“That sounds good.” Misty agrees, going to follow her wife out with an eager addition of, “But first  _ Mcdonald’s  _ fries.”

 

“Fries?” 

 

“And sweet tea.  _ And  _ apple pie.”

 

Cordelia’s laughter is sweet as she starts down the stairs, “Sure thing, Mist.” 

  
  
  


The  _ Tulane Lakeside Hospital  _ stands like a looming, pale white square of a building against the blue of a clear blue sky. Not a cloud in sight, the heat of a Louisiana summer has Cordelia’s Cadillac Escalades windows rolled up tightly to keep in the cool air conditioning.  Misty’s nose just barely touches the glass as she looks up at it’s green lettered sign. Just as they pass the front doors, a women is wheeled out by a nurse, and a panicked looking father speed-walks after them with a bulky car seat.

 

“My timer says that was 25 minutes. But we went in that drive through window. That took how long? Ten minutes, maybe? Misty?” Cordelia’s hand on her shoulder breaks her attention from watching the couple buckle in their baby. Their own car now parked, Misty looks away and at Cordelia’s frown. “Misty, were you even listening to me?” 

 

Though she doesn’t reply with  _ no,  _ the younger witch blurts out, “We’re goin’ to need a car seat,” as an obvious answer to Cordelia’s question. Misty bites at her short nails, suddenly nervous as she shifts in her seat and undoes her seat belt. “I’m not even sure how to hold a baby, ‘Delia.” 

 

Her wife gets out of the vehicle, her shoes - sensible boots with enough of a heel their height difference is slightly less than its usual few inches - they click clack on the parking lot pavement as she goes around the back of the car to Misty’s side. Misty’s got the door open by the time she makes it, but the older woman offers a hand to hold as she makes the large step down. Misty squeezes her fingers tightly around Cordelia’s, letting the joint palms sway back and forth between them as Cordelia taps a button on her keychain with her free hand. The car  _ beeps  _ behind them and Misty can hear the locks shutting into place. The small tug of Cordelia urging her to walk with her toward the door makes Misty’s growing nerves settle. The other woman always seems to have that effect. “Hey.” Cordelia’s hair sticks to her neck - sweat making the blonde strands darker. The humid, nearly ninety degree days of Louisiana heat have the entire area smothered and tucked away in the coolness of air conditioned buildings. Misty drags her eyes up, away from her wife’s neck to look at her assuring expression. “It’s going to be fine. We’ll figure it all out - It can’t be too hard.” 

 

“Babies seem pretty hard.” 

 

“Babies are easy.” Cordelia smiles; and it’s infectious. The easiest of her happiness with the burden of fear on her shoulders. “We’re going to learn it all together, and do it together, too.”  There’s a soft  _ swoosh  _ of the sliding doors opening for them; it reminds Misty of the various witches of their academy practicing telekinesis. The green, yellow and off white colors of the outside keep their theme as they enter the lobby. Cordelia’s voice lowers as the pair arrives at the desk as to only let Misty hear her words, “This place is nice.” 

 

“It’s fancy.” There’s a bowl of pink and blue mints, her fingers itch to grab a handful and stuff them into Cordelia’s purse. She tries, but the swamp witch finds her wrist caught as her fingers dip into the crinkling wrappers. When she follows the arm up, she finds Cordelia’s patronizing smirk.  _ Caught red handed.  _ Her defense spills out louder than it should, getting the attention of the waiting room. “They want you to take one!” 

 

“Take  _ one.  _ Not the whole bowl.” Cordelia releases her wife’s hand, grabs one of the pink mints and her fingers carefully rip the wrapping. It rolls out into her palm - the older woman pinches the candy between her fingers and offers it to Misty. “You can have mine too, how about that?” 

 

“You like mints.” Misty reminds, and she seeks out a matching sugary treat to much less subtly unwrap with the assistance of her teeth tearing the plastic. “I  _ like  _ when you eat mints. Makes you taste good.”

 

Cordelia’s hip bumps her own. “Are you saying I don’t taste good normally?” The candy easily transfers to Cordelia’s hand, and she bites it between her teeth before shutting her mouth to roll it against her tongue. The ball of it pushes against her cheek where she tucks it. The simple act makes Misty’s own mouth feel to dry around her candy. Makes the younger witch dart her eyes away and around the reception to distract herself from the warm, wave of a feeling that tingles down her legs. How long has it been?  _ Two months.  _ Her knee wants to bounce as she bites down on her sweet, teeth crushing the softening disk. It cracks and grinds and she lets Cordelia greet the staff member that comes out to see them.  _ I’m not sick anymore.  _ Perhaps it’s time to do something about their dry spell. 

 

The imagery that flashes through her head is enough to make her miss Cordelia’s introduction; Misty shakes herself from her thoughts just as the middle aged nurse (nurse? She’s wearing scrubs patterned with ducks, so the Cajun guesses hopefully right) starts speaking. “-Well, my name’s Kelly, I’ll be your guide today. So if you have any questions, you go ahead and ask them.” Her accent is notably southern - Texas, maybe. Hair dyed red with dark roots, and her tanned skin clear of makeup except a dusting of blue eyeshadow. “Let me start off with a congratulations though! When are you due?”

 

Misty’s wide eyed features look to Cordelia with a light panic. “She’s due October twentieth.” The older woman answers for her wife, taking Misty’s hand again as a supportive anchor. It’s a second nature to her, helping Misty. She distracts the nurse’s attention way. “I read on your website this hospital is  _ baby friendly?”  _

 

They start down the hall, Misty looking at the walls and into the windows of each door they pass.  _ What kind of hospital isn’t ‘baby friendly’?  _ her eyes narrow at the artwork on the walls. She feels awfully out of place strolling down a maternity ward. The place smells of lavender and hand sanitizer. The nurse - Kelly - she’s ready to explain it all. “Oh, it’s just lovely. Our facility believes mother and child bonding is just so important, you know, skin to skin contact.” Her hands move with her words, and she keeps turning to look behind herself at the couple. “Our doctors make sure mommy and baby have at least one hour of bonding time before their separated. It helps with breastfeeding - do you plan on breastfeeding?” 

 

“Um…” Misty glances down at her chest, the swollenness of her breasts with all the weird changes in her body. She looks to Cordelia, who simply raises an eyebrow. They hadn’t discussed that yet. The idea of  _ not  _ doing it makes no sense, it’s as biological as breathing.  _ Beauty of nature,  _ and all that. “Yeah, I guess.” 

 

“That’s wonderful! We have staff specially trained in getting the infant to latch on, so no worries about that.” Kelly stops, she spins on her heel to face them. Misty nearly keeps walking right into her. Cordelia’s hand holding her own keeps her from going on forward. “Now you two wait right here while I go see which of the delivery rooms are empty. Then we can talk about deciding on using an epidural.”

 

With that the nurse is off; her short figure disappearing in a rush down the hall. A breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding escapes from between Misty’s lips, she feels like leaning against Cordelia so she does. Her fingers twirl Cordelia’s tennis bracelet idly. “This is a bit overwhelmin’, huh?” She gives it a moment, maybe two. Cordelia doesn’t shift to respond. Worry crests in the younger witch’s chest. She checks her wife’s face for any sign of an issue and finds a distracted, completely engrossed gaze at something across the hall. “What’s up, darlin’?”

 

When she looks to see what could possibly be keeping Cordelia’s attention away from her inquiries, the bright light from a large clear window doesn’t register as a  _ window  _ at first. Then she notices the scattered people - hands and noses pressed to the glass. They aren’t too far away from it, but only the tops of the plastic rims of the baby clots with little tags clipped to each can been seen.  _ Oh.  _ Cordelia’s biting her lip.  _ She wants to look.  _ Misty herself can’t help but feel an urge to peek into the room. Her hand fans itself across the small of Cordelia’s back; feels the material of her top shift under her fingertips. She pushes just enough to make the older woman move forward with her, until they both can properly see in. Misty first looks at Cordelia; finds her reaction much cuter than the flailing infant limbs and wiggling burritos. The Supreme’s breath creates fog on the glass; she leans further in and her eyes light up with both the reflection of the bulbs overhead and her excitement. 

“They’re so  _ tiny.”  _

 

_ Smaller than I imagined,  _ is what Misty thinks, looking over the newborns. Some sleep, with fat cheeks pressed into the simple fitted sheets underneath them. Others wiggle, hands covered in little mittens that somehow just make Misty  _ grin  _ seeing the soft looking covers.  “ _ Cher,  _ look at their noses.”

 

Cordelia’s fingertip leaves a print on the window as she points to a baby - in the first row, with its head turned to the side and a grumpy frown in its little mouth.  “We’re going to have one of those in a few months.” A baby; a living, breathing child thrust into their care. “Oh God, we need to get ready.”

 

Misty’s earlier nerves seem to have calmed down, she offers Cordelia a steady shoulder to lean on. “I think we’re goin’ to be fine.” She nods - Cordelia can feel her hair move with the action. “Little lovebug ain’t gotta worry about a single thing. After all, her mom is the  _ Supreme.”  _

 

“That’s not a good thing.” Cordelia grimaces. Thinks of living with Fiona, of nannies and an absent mother in all her childhood memories.  _ I’ll never be like that.  _ Cordelia can’t even think of missing a birthday, a holiday, even a weekend. But it puts a target on you; everyone expects more, raises the height of a bar set too high in the first place.  

 

“You’re gonna make it a good think, ‘Delia. Picture that - being the daughter of the coven’s most beloved leader.” The infants in front of them start crying. One whimpers into a wail, the others follow suit shortly after. Like a tiny, cute pack of wild coyote. 

 

“And the coven’s best necromancer.” 

 

“That too.” 

  
  
  


The smooth, drawn out notes of  _ Rock A Little  _ starting as the needle drags across the vinyl across the room makes Misty close her eyes; let the music carry through her very bones up and filling her chest with a warm, calmed feeling. Her head feels a little funny - like turning it too fast might cause black spots to dance across her vision. She doesn’t want to turn her neck though, staring with a content gaze at Cordelia propping her leg up on the edge of the mattress she lays on. Her fingers work milk and honey lotion into the soft skin of her calves. The faint and muted fragrance fills the room, the only evidence of its existence as the white lotion absorbs into Cordelia’s skin. A long, deep breath draws in through Misty’s nose. She sighs on her exhale; smiles into the edge of her pillow as Cordelia rubs the extra body product left on her hands into Misty’s slightly swollen feet. 

 

“That feels nice.” The drawstring ties of Misty’s sleep shorts tickle the tops of her thighs - she shifts her leg to make it move. Cordelia keeps her tender motions; thumbs going in circles. “You keep that up, I might never let you leave, darlin’.” 

 

“What makes you think I’d want to leave?” The older witch raises an eyebrow at Misty - climbs on the bed to sit at the end with her wife’s feet in her lap as Misty turns to lay on her back. Misty’s hair fans around her head, bunching up and no doubt tangling. “You have cute feet.” A single fingertip drags up the underside of her heel, into the arch and taps as it finds her big toe. “The view isn’t have bad, either.” 

 

Something like a tempting smirk places itself across Misty’s lips.  _ How long has it been since it felt normal in this house?  _ They’re in bed at ten, there’s  _ Stevie  _ playing faintly, and the smell of Cordelia’s shower still leaks from the bathroom. It’s all so very reminiscent of their routine before the baby, and the hecticness of pregnancy is somehow slotting itself in amongst their daily plans. Not to mention the return of other things -  _ feelings  _ that were dosed by sickness and by fear. They light up like candles returning to life in her belly. The kicks have settled, and her heart flutters as she thinks of their little lovebug sleeping soundly. “The view from here ain’t half bad itself.” Her knees part, and her hands come up to make grabbing gestures at Cordelia to beckon her up closer, “C’mon up.” 

 

The warm, solid weight of Cordelia is obviously nervous as she crawls up on her hands and knees. She leans back on her legs; keeping herself from laying fully on Misty’s figure. The cotton of Misty’s shirt rides up her sides effortlessly as the older witch drags her hands up under it. Cordelia’s hips settle right below Misty’s belly - she sighs as she exposes more and more skin. She can’t help herself from leaning forward and pressing a kiss to Misty’s upper abdomen, to the curve of the underside of her breasts.  _ They’re so much bigger.  _ Cordelia feels a little giddy, juvenile in the way the changes to her lover’s body make her squirm. There’s a very insistent part of her mind reminding her it’s been too long since they’ve been close in this aspect. 

 

“ _ Cher,  _ you look like you’re thinkin’ too hard.” Misty’s fingers push back her wife’s hair; she lets them linger as they trail down Cordelia’s neck, feather light in their touch. “What’s eating you up?”  _ I’m scared.  _ She’s so scared. She’s scared her fingers will lay against cracked, frail skin instead of the warmed softness she does find under her palms. Frightened Misty will crumble and break under the smallest contact. There’s Misty looking up at her though, with big blue eyes flecked with a well known ache Cordelia’s mastered tending to. Behind her she feels Misty’s knees come up to as she plants her feet on the mattress. A backrest for Cordelia to lean against as the Cajun’s much more forward hands go to palm her chest over the fabric of her silk-like pajama shirt. The cream colored material bunches between her fingers as they squeeze lightly. 

 

“Are you sure?” There’s an eagerness Cordelia can’t help, looking at the woman below her. She tries to put a front up, one of indifference.  _ Don’t say yes for me.  _ But her nipples harden and pebble against Misty’s hold. “I know you’ve been feeling better, but if you want to wait we can.” The record skips - older, used countless times, it hitches in time with Cordelia’s breath as Misty moves her hands off to the sides, letting her thumbs flick at the tightened peaks. 

 

“I’ve been thinkin’ about this all day.” Misty admits. She doesn’t look at Cordelia’s facial expressions, instead watches the other woman’s chest as her back aches them closer. “Coming home, I couldn’t stop watchin’ your hands on the wheel. Thinking about how much I wanted you to just pull the damn car over and put them to work.” 

 

Misty worries the skin of her bottom lip; she relents in her attention to Cordelia’s breasts. Her fingers walk down the older witch’s sides. Blunt nails digging into the backs of Cordelia’s thighs when she reaches them, “Why don’t you come on up, and I’ll show you how grateful I’ve been for you, darlin’?”

 

There’s a strong pull on her legs, hands push down her panties and move her in an effort to get them off - Cordelia’s hooded eyes widen. “You want me to- Are you saying- _ Misty,  _ I can’t do that.”

 

“You’ve done it before.” Misty’s voice lowers, drops in volume and purrs from her chest like rumbling thunder. She tugs and tugs; works at Cordelia’s stubbornness with her own. “A few times, if I’m rememberin’ right.” 

 

“But you’re  _ pregnant.”  _ Sitting on the face of a woman carrying a child doesn’t seem like the brightest idea. 

 

“ _ Exactly. _ You think I can crawl up between those pretty legs with lovebug in the way?” The lewd manner of Misty’s question makes Cordelia’s knees feel like jello - she’s easier to pull up and closer. A cheeky smile lights up Misty’s face, showing off her dimples. “This position though, _ the better to eat you with _ , ‘Delia.” 

 

Cordelia’s exhale is halted and broken apart as her thighs frame Misty’s face. Her knees pushing into her mane of untamed curls. Her worry over the pulling of it on her wife’s hair is whisked away with the tip of Misty’s nose pushing against her pubic mound. It bumps against the stubble there -  _ I haven’t shaved in weeks.  _ It doesn’t put off Misty, her search leading her lower until she finds the swollen bud of Cordelia’s clit. 

 

“Oh-my- _ God,”  _ There’s a horribly loud sucking noise, one of Cordelia trying to find the breath she lost. Misty’s mouth locks like a magnet around the older woman’s bundle of nerves. Her tongue works in repetitive, massaging strokes. Entirely  _ too  _ much, Cordelia finds herself lifting up instead of bearing down. “Oh  _ God.”  _ There’s arms wrapped around her thighs, holding her down and helping Misty to lift her head up to follow her in a devoting chase. The fire in her belly fans quicker and quicker. She glances down. Misty’s eyes looking up at her from between her legs. The younger woman shakes her head side to side - an explicit visual of Misty’s cheeks pressed into her center and the fact she’s  _ watching  _ Cordelia grip the headboard - watching the long and slow way Cordelia’s chin drops and a whine squeaks out. 

 

Her senses feel overloaded. She releases the headboard, lets her fingers tangle in the hair atop Misty’s head. Like Icarus, flying too close to the sun. The burning bright star melts her wax wings from the inside out. Misty the wind beneath her, pushing her higher and higher into the flame as her orgasm makes her tumble and fall. Holding onto the other woman’s hair, her hips can’t help but buck down into her face - feeling the wet slickness of Misty’s chin. 

 

When she gets off of her, Cordelia tips right to the side; her chest panting in large, hot breaths. Her heartbeat rushes in her ears. They feel like cotton has been stuffed in them; it muffles Misty’s amused giggles. The younger woman high on the adrenaline - the airy sound mixing with the faint music, and Cordelia’s harsh breathing.  “Good?” She asks, after a moment. 

 

“ _ Amazing.”  _

 

“Hm-I can tell.” Cordelia shifts, moving to see Misty better. The warm yellow glow of the bedside lamp glints off her chin. The wild blonde licks her lips; drags her finger over the underside of her jaw and sucks the digit into her mouth in an effortlessly attractive move. Her head tilts toward Cordelia in an offer, “Gonna clean me up now?” 

 

“Of course.” The heady scent and flavor assaults Cordelia as she takes Misty in a deep kiss. The taste on Misty’s tongue mixes with the muted mint of toothpaste. Cordelia doesn’t need to feel the pool of wetness in Misty’s shorts to know how aroused her is. She feels it in the nibbling of her lip, their teeth bumping together as Cordelia turns her head. The Supreme’s tongue flattens in a broad lick on the softness of her chin, down her neck and along her pulse point. Shirt pushed up, Cordelia goes to dip lower and finds herself stopped.

 

“Uh-Can we use it?” Misty keeps wetting her lips. 

 

“Use what?” Cordelia lifts her eyebrow. 

 

Misty closes her eyes, her eyelashes brushing the tops of her cheeks. A tremble shakes through the dresser across the room. The top drawer  _ pops  _ open without a hand to assist it.  _ Oh.  _ Understanding dawns across Cordelia’s face as the toy comes obediently to Misty’s awaiting open palm. It’s replaced with anxiety and concern. “Should we?”

 

“I didn’t have a fancy education like  _ you,”  _ Misty teases, the belts of the strap-on twirling around her wrist where she holds it up, “But I’m pretty sure we can, darlin’.” 

 

It doesn’t take very long - would have taken less time, if the two didn’t pause to kiss when the wait started to feel too drawn out - for Cordelia to get up and step into the harness. To tighten the buckles with little care for the pinch her harsh pulling does to her own hips. The green phallic silicone positioned between her legs, Cordelia sheds her shirt. Misty’s lost her own, thrown it to the floor to be cleaned tomorrow. 

 

“Turn over.” Cordelia commands - she takes on  _ that  _ tone, one of superiority. One Misty’s gotten use to hearing in meetings, around girls that have started one too many fights - in the  _ bedroom.  _ “On your knees, baby.” 

 

It takes a bit more effort for Misty to turn over; something that somehow makes Cordelia’s chest impossibly warmer, impossibly  _ bursting  _ with affection for the way she grabs the sheets. Braced on her elbows, Misty looks back at Cordelia with a mixture of emotions swirling in her eyes. Lust, love, the need to please. 

 

“Good girl,” Cordelia fits her fingers on the hem of the younger witch’s shorts. The cotton-like material comes as she pulls it down, exposing more and more of the curve of Misty’s ass with each inch tugged down. At the midpoint of her thighs, they fall around her knees, acting as a binding that keeps Misty from spreading them more than a few inches. “Such a good girl.” 

 

There’s a sheer, shiny dampness coating the insides of the top’s of Misty’s thighs. It collects on Cordelia’s fingers as she runs the pads of them from the younger witch’s opening to her clit; lets the moisture ease her circles and pinches. Misty buries her face into the duvet - her groans muffled in the comforter as Cordelia uses her hand to steady the tip of the toy against her. She spares a moment to look at the line of Misty’s back, the pooling on her shoulders. Cordelia takes her in as she takes her - watching the way Misty’s arm muscles flex as each inch of the dildo eases in. 

 

It’s such a  _ welcomed  _ sight after so long (too long) that she does it again, and  _ again.  _ Notes the way her wife rocks back when she takes too long. Cordelia’s hips speed up, not enough to push her up the bed, but enough. She loops her hands under the younger woman’s legs to keep her up and stable. There’s a pornographic  _ smack smack smack  _ noise that accompanies the quick thrusts. Cordelia’s tempted to lean to the side, just to see Misty’s breasts move with the motions. She lasts longer than Cordelia, hoarsely keening into the bed. The swamp witch finds her release with the the addition of a well timed thumb providing much need friction. Cordelia’s name yelps out - like a cat in heat, as Misty topples over her own edge.

 

Cordelia lets the tempo of her work fade slowly. Lets the toy drag out slowly on the tail end of her lover’s abating orgasm. “I love you.” She says -  _ really says.  _ Not the quick passing in the hall, goodbye-hello love you. One that spits itself open to bare all the tender and enamored feelings. “I really, really love you.”

 

“I love you too.” Misty’s mirrors her own. The words mean so much more, as if the aren’t spoken daily by billions of other people.  _ Love  _ is that kind of four lettered miracle, to express so much in such a expansive term. She loves Misty; she loves their  _ daughter.  _ She loves the coven. Cordelia smiles down at the woman on the sheets. Who would have known, Cordelia Goode had so much love locked away? Who would have guessed, Misty Day to hold the key? 

 

The straps on her hips are easier to take off, no longer rushed in the heat of the moment. Her movements are slow, lazy. Misty turns on her back - not bothering to pull her pants back up. “I’ll get you a washcloth.” Cordelia offers. Turns toward the bathroom and leaves the sticky toy on the floor for later. “Vanilla,” She calls out looking at soaps on their sink, “Or cherry blossom?” 

 

The lack of response doesn’t upset her - Misty often takes awhile to come down from her climax. Perfectly happy to lay there as Cordelia wipes her legs, only moving when she’s handed the towel to do the same for her wife. Cordelia lets the water run, lets it turn warm under her hand. It’s an old house, it takes time. There’s a silence in the room since the record has reached its end. 

 

“Misty, baby,” Cordelia steps over to the bed, too busy looking at the cloth in her hands and working her palms together to make sudsy foam appear, “C’mon, wake up for a minute. You don’t want to go to sleep a mess-”

 

A wet, choked sound. Right in front of her. Where she expects to find Misty’s closed, sleepy eyes she instead sees panicked blue irises, the pupils blown wide. Her mouth is not parted in sleep, but her bottom lip buffers as a dark line of crimson spreads from between her lips. Runs in a thick droplet down her cheek and into her hair. 

 

“Misty?” Her own voice doesn’t sound like her. Too quiet, barely there. She feels too much like a toddler, walking in on her mother in a drug and alcohol induced coma.  _ Small,  _ she thinks is what to label it as,  _ useless.  _

 

Blood spittles from her wife’s mouth. The damp washcloth drops to the floor in a solid  _ thump  _ against the hardwood. Cordelia’s soapy hands shake violently. Her whole body does; up her arms, down her legs. Her own chin wobbles. The room has darkened so suddenly, it feels like her vision as tunneled.  _ I need to get a phone, I need to tell someone.  _

 

Misty keeps looking at  _ her.  _ She looks at her as her mouth fills with blood, as she chokes on the metallic taste. She looks at her as she wails - a sound so unpleasant to Cordelia’s ears in its pain she wants to cover her ears. With the sound is a partnered blunt noise, the wet split of Misty’s belly slicing itself open.  _ No,  _ Cordelia watches with dread,  _ not itself.  _ So much blood, it’s black with the amount of the bodily liquid as the older witch’s palms frantically cover the growing wound created without a cause, without a soul in sight to inflict the damage. 

 

_ Something unholy.  _

 


	12. Twelve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: blood/gore

The thing about bursts of magic - especially in powerful witches, they flood out from their center of origin in a wave very nearly  _ solid  _ in the way in rolls a destructive path. First, the lamp’s bulb bursts and plunges them into darkness, then the drawers of the nightstands tear off their tracks; making loud booming noises as they bang against the wall opposite to them. Cordelia’s hands turn dark with blood, and her scream is accompanied by the window turning into millions of sparkling shards that rain both into the room and out into the warm night. 

 

She doesn’t like to think that her fingers are dipping inside of Misty’s abdomen, that the slice on her stomach is deep and the edges of it only seem to grow. She thinks maybe, when the door flies open, that it’s just her power lashing out from unstable emotions.  _ Is it weird? To feel so much,  _ the sheets under her knees feel wet, and she can see in the darkness the rivets of red pouring down Misty’s sides to stain the bed,  _ but feel numb at the same time _ ? But the door opening brings with it the presence of three figures entering and the hallway light spilling into the bedroom.

 

“What’s going on?” Zoe -  _ Zoe,  _ Cordelia thanks whatever might be listening. She doesn’t think she’d be able to go find someone to help, feeling an uncontrollable need to keep herself firmly at Misty’s side. “Cordelia-” A hand wraps around her arm, and she shakes it off, “-Cordelia, let us help.”

 

Misty’s eyes are rolled back in her head, and Cordelia worries about her biting her tongue. Looking up from the nightmare in front of her, Cordelia’s vision is blurred with tears. “I duh-I don’t know what happened.” 

 

Zoe climbs up on her knees onto the bed across from Cordelia, mirroring her supreme’s position over the swamp witch between them. Behind her, Kyle hovers like a nervous little boy, leaning slightly to look at the mess of blood. Cordelia blushes as she realizes Misty’s in only her panties - thankfully not less. Not that it matters much.  _ She’s going to die.  _ Again. 

 

In Cordelia’s arms.  _ Again.  _

 

“M-My magic isn’t working.” Cordelia informs the room. Zoe frowns at that. Her eyes narrowing at Misty’s injury. “I can’t heal her.”

 

“It’s being blocked.” Queenie - standing at the foot of the bed, holding onto the footboard, and looking positively scared, says. “This isn’t normal magic.”  _ It’s definitely magic.  _ There’s dark arts holding Misty’s wound open. Unable to be bound back together. It swirls around the bed, weighs down all the energy Cordelia pulls out, making it too heavy to reach Misty and do any good. Queenie runs her hand through her hair, “This is voodoo.”

 

“Are you sure?” Zoe questions.

 

“I know my shit.” Queenie bites back; the situation getting to all of them. “This is  _ voodoo,  _ look at the pattern of the cuts.”

 

The pattern - she’s right, though difficult to see from the thick blood obscuring the area, is more than one simple line. There’s symbols, ones Cordelia doesn’t recognize, carved into Misty’s skin. Her hand moves over them, unable to fix the damage with her powers. 

 

“We need a protection spell.” Cordelia states. The tears still wet her cheeks, and her nose is stuffed from crying. But a switch flips, and she takes on her mantle as Supreme with the easy of shrugging into one’s favorite coat. Let’s the position wrap around her and keep her heart from falling apart. “Gather the girls. We’re going to need everyone.”

 

Cordelia looks toward Kyle, “Go get me towels, and all the salt in the kitchen.” 

 

He nods, and with a lingering worried glance at the wild blonde on the bed, he leaves.

 

“We’re going to need angelica, bay leaves,” Cordelia bites her lip, keeps herself from looking down. Her hands shake - and it’s a sour reminder that her feeble fight alone is possibly the only thing keeping her wife from bleeding out on their bed. “Blackberry, and ivy. Get the younger girls to weave those wreaths we touched on in herbalism last month.”

 

She finally lets herself look down, smooth Misty’s hair back from her forehead. She’s knocked out - unresponsive. Cordelia’s fingers stain her blonde curls red. “You’re going to be okay.” 

  
  


* * *

  
  
  


The doors to the academy are adorned in green wreaths - sweet with ripened blackberries and purposeful with the way the ivy has been braided in a loop. The entire coven is lit up, not a single resident sleeps. Cordelia’s eyes feel heavy, and her magic gets lighter with the passing minutes. 

 

“I can’t hold it back much longer.” The older witch whimpers. Her fingers tremble where they hover over Misty’s stomach, one hand above her belly, the other her head. The blood in her injury threatens to spill, held back by Cordelia’s own powers. The heartbeat -  _ heartbeats,  _ they’re getting quieter with time. Cordelia looks for them in between the rush of the room. 

 

Zoe’s lighting candles; thick, waxy pillars that encompass every flat surface in the room. They melt under their flames, dripping a mess onto the floor, onto the dressers and nightstands. Salt has been poured in a generous line following the baseboards. On the windowsill. 

 

Kyle helps hand the last wreath above the bedroom door, making sure to stand aside for some of their senior students to shuffle in behind Queenie. The girls wear cloaks of white; the hoods pulled up and shadowing nervous faces. Each of them hold bowls of important pieces to the protection ritual. Cordelia winces as her headache pangs harder against the back of her eyes. 

 

They haven’t taught much on protective shielding spells - a fact that worries Cordelia as she can’t focus on them setting up. Though Zoe directs each girl into their position. Candles keeping them lit up, Zoe appears in the flickering light in front of Cordelia with a pitiful grimace. “We’re ready when you are.”

 

With a shaky nod, Cordelia hears her students being instructed to start the spell. Zoe and Queenie lead them in a deep breath. Cordelia sighs - feeling her girls power start to accompany her own. Misty’s body has a shadow casted on it. Kyle stands next to them. His hand is in a fist, and he opens it palm up in an offer to Cordelia. Black Onyx, for protection. It settles in her own hand easily, and she takes Misty’s hand to let its power radiate into her limp fingers too. “She’s going to be fine.” Kyle assures. He stays close. Listens quietly as the witches around him start up a long, confusing chant. 

 

“Et cingor scuto praesidio.” A low, almost  _ thud  _ of magic pangs in the room. One girl hiccups on her words. Cordelia murmurs along with them, keeps her hand in Misty’s, the other cupping the swamp witch’s jaw. “ _ Ego meam incolumem in spatio _ .”

 

They ease into the same repetition. The air feels like it's alive - vibrating around them in a frazzled rush of energy. Good versus evil; Cordelia’s chin wobbles, and with the fourth chant of the spell, she  _ tries.  _

 

The body on the bed,  _ Misty,  _ she jerks and twitches, her fingers tighten around Cordelia’s. The crystal in between their palm nearly cuts her with the pressure. Her other hand goes to touch her injury. Cordelia doesn’t have the extra power to stop her. The edges of her wound pulling together, they make a wail bubble from her throat - and Kyle catches her wrist before she can claw at the pain.  He holds her arm, doing what he can to help. 

 

“Et cingor scuto  _ praesidio _ .” Cordelia’s teeth chatter against each other; she grinds them together against the black magic being forced from the room. The voodoo spell holds onto each thing it passes as it’s flushed from the house - grappling in the doorway until one final, “ _ Ego meam incolumem in spatio _ .” sends it tumbling out with the trash. 

 

The candles almost extinguish with the gust of wind that comes in from the window. A force that doesn’t match the calm and still summer’s night. It blows at the flames, wispy white curtains coming dangerously close to being lit on fire. A resounding pulse of magic holds itself in the air - almost physical, almost choking Cordelia as she inhales deeply. 

 

The cuts on Misty’s stomach are healed. Pink raised scars left behind to be treated with some special mud, and loving care. Misty’s eyes are open, darting between Cordelia and Kyle with panic she’s only seen a few, fleeting times. 

 

Cordelia’s eyes feel heavy, and with each slow blink she wonders if she simply will keep them shut and drift off to sleep instead of opening them again. But Misty’s  _ okay,  _ and the image of her alive and responsive beneath her is more than enough to keep Cordelia’s gaze. “Misty,” she starts, brushes her thumb over the swell of the younger witch’s cheek. “Misty, honey, do you want to talk?”

 

_ Not can you,  _ Cordelia herself isn’t too interested in talking right now. She’d much rather usher the crowd of young witches watching them out and wrap Misty in an unwavering hug to keep her together. She’s terrified to touch her wife’s belly - favoring putting her palm as gently as possible over the top of the bump. 

 

The wild blonde’s eyes look a little bewildered - she squints at Cordelia, her lips pursing together. Her neck twitches ever-so slightly to the side. Just enough Cordelia’s already assumed she’s going to shake her head _no,_ but she doesn’t follow through with the gesture. No, Misty’s head tips back into the pillow, and her muscles tighten. Her back bows, her shoulders draw back, lifting her off the bed a bit. First Cordelia feels before sees Misty’s legs start to shake. They make the bed move as her heels dig into the mattress. _Then_ the convulsions spread - like fire burning up her body. Kyle catches her by the shoulders as they start to tremble. 

 

“Too much magic,” Cordelia says out loud;  _ she’s overwhelmed.  _ Misty’s feeling like the battlefield. Stepped on, trampled, the field on which they’d fought off a dark force. Cordelia’s own magic feels dizzy. She’s spent too much too quickly, fixing the wounds  _ and  _ helping hold the shield. Misty’s eyes show the whites - her head pushing back into the pillow with as much pressure as her strained muscles can allow.  _ She’s going to hurt herself.  _

 

Without as much as thinking of the repercussions for herself Cordelia leans down. Her palm feels warm as it touches Misty’s forehead - holding her still as her other hand comes up from the Cajun’s belly to  place a thumb on her chin.  _ Go to sleep,  _ she thinks, as softly as possible easing Misty’s clenched jaw open to blow a long, tranceful breath into Misty’s mouth. The shakes draw out of her system. Her body sags into the bed, heavy with rest. Cordelia’s smile is weak, soft but  _ happy  _ it worked; and without another moment to spare, the Supreme feels light and blackness comes in from the corners of her vision as she lets herself fall from her knees in a much earned fainting spell. 


	13. Thirteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi this is Tiff I just wanna say that AngelicRabe is doing a great job and I love her also thank you for reading xx

The early morning light filtered into the room through the blinds and Cordelia squinted against the brightness. Shifting herself up, she glanced around the room. The evidence of the chaos from the night before remains, short stubs of candles burned out hours ago, lines of salt sitting now without purpose, and blood. Dried blood on her palms and under her fingernails, streaked across her forearms and across the bed sheets. She looks to her wife, the dried blood on Misty’s face making her heart sink. The steady rise and fall of her chest brings her comfort, though, that Misty was alright.  _ For now at least. _

 

Swinging her legs over the side of the bed and walking around it toward the entrance of the bathroom, her foot  _ squishes  _ over something. Looking down, she notices it’s the rag, still damp from laying balled up on the floor all night. She sinks down to her knees, picking it up. Her eyes well with tears and she muffles her choked gasp with her palm. Why couldn’t things ever be  _ normal _ with them? There was always some sort of disaster, some sort of problem to deal with. All she wanted was to take care of her wife and their daughter, something that should come easily to  _ her _ of all people. She was the Supreme after all. Tears were flowing freely down her cheeks now, and Cordelia made no attempt to hide them. 

 

A soft groan from behind her broke her out of her haze, standing up quickly and whirling around to face her wife who was struggling to sit up. Cordelia dropped the wadded up rag back to the floor and stepped toward Misty. “I don’t think you should be sitting up like that just yet,” she said carefully, gently laying her still bloodied hand against Misty’s shoulder. 

 

Ignoring the instructions, Misty scooted herself into a sitting position and looked up at Cordelia, her blue eyes filled with concern. “Delia, what’s wrong honey?” she asked, reaching her hand to swipe away the tear tracks still on Cordelia’s cheeks with the pad of her thumb. Laughing softly, Cordelia brought her hand up to lace her fingers with Misty’s. The younger witch’s eyebrows furrowed, tugging gently on Cordelia’s wrist. “What’s funny?” 

 

“It’s just that you were split in half less than twelve hours ago and here you are fussing over  _ me _ ,” Cordelia explained, letting go of Misty to wipe her face with the clean backs of her hands. 

 

“Well look at me now,” the younger witch said, flinging the blankets off of herself, her cropped shirt exposing her completely healed stomach, running her hands across it. “Not a scratch, now. And the little love bug is fine too!” she insisted, flattening her palm on her bump and closing her eyes, feeling the life inside of her. 

 

Cordelia’s eyes welled up again, blinking hard against the sting, she smiled softly. “You’re right. Not a scratch.” Setting one hand next to Misty’s on her stomach, she sighed. Blood was still soaked into the cream colored sheets, dried on Misty’s back and legs from sleeping on top of it. “I think we should get cleaned up, though. We’re both an awful mess.”

 

Nodding in agreement, Misty slid off of the bed to stand next to Cordelia, letting her lead them both to the joint bathroom. The chill of the tile made her shiver, goosebumps crawling up her calves. Letting go of her hand, Cordelia leaned over the side of the tub to turn on the faucet, hot water splashing against the porcelain. Standing back up to face Misty, she smiled carefully at her, her fingers moving to grip the tight shirt and pulling it slowly over the younger blonde’s head. Taking note of the way she shivered, Cordelia dropped the t-shirt on the floor and ran her palms over Misty’s arms. “Are you cold?” 

 

Crossing her arms over her chest, Misty nods, smiling back at Cordelia. “Hurry and take these off of me and we can get in,” she says jokingly, nudging Cordelia’s shin with her foot. Giggling, Cordelia hooked her fingers in the waistband of Misty’s underwear, dragging it down her long legs. Stepping out of them, Misty reached around and unhooked Cordelia’s bra, letting it fall to the ground next to their other discarded clothing. Finally both undressed, Cordelia opened the shower curtain and helped Misty carefully step into the clawfoot tub, following after her. The steam from the hot water immediately warmed her, muscles relaxing, she leaned her chin gently on Misty’s shoulder. 

 

“I love you,” she said quietly, wrapping her arms around her waist and resting them on Misty’s stomach. “And you, too,” she said, pressing her palms carefully against her as she did. 

 

Misty smiled, dimples flashing, settling her own hands over Cordelia’s. “I love you too, darlin’.”

 

Moving away, Cordelia reached for the rag draped over the edge of the tub. Pouring the lavender scented body wash on it, she lathered it up and kneeled down, beginning to scrub the blood from Misty’s lower back. The water flowing down the drain turned tinted pink and Cordelia sighed heavily, trying to forget the events of last night. Feeling fingers weave through her hair and blunt fingernails scratch gently at the base of her neck, she glanced up, meeting Misty’s worried gaze. She smiled softly up at her, assuring her she was alright, and got back to work at washing away the blood. When Misty’s backside was completely clean, Cordelia gripped her hips in her hands and turned her around, coming face to face with Misty’s stomach. Running the rag against the stretch mark covered skin, her free fingers tracing patterns along it. Rinsing the suds away, she carefully pressed her lips against the bump. Finally finished, she braced herself on the tub and pulled herself up. Handing Misty the rag she stood on her tiptoes and placed a second kiss on her forehead. “All clean.” 

 

They laid tangled in bed, Cordelia’s fingers toying with the edge of Misty’s oversized sleep shirt. Shifting to look up at her, Misty flashed her biggest smile. “Will you make me pancakes, Delia?” 

 

Cordelia laughed, pressing her face into Misty’s neck, she nodded. “Bananas?”

 

“Of course.”

 

____

 

Standing at the counter stirring pancake batter, Cordelia tried not to worry about Misty. She was only right upstairs, she reasoned with herself. Still, she could imagine the same thing happening while she was here, flipping pancakes. Shaking her head, she remembered the protection spell. The whole point of it was to keep Misty safe. There’s no reason to worry. Footsteps startled her out of her thoughts and she glanced up, making eye contact with Zoe. The young witch immediately looked down at the floor, her cheeks red. 

 

Clearing her throat and staring down into the half mixed batter in the bowl in front of her, Cordelia willed her own blush away. “I’m sorry you walked in on us…” glancing up and seeing Zoe staring down at the floor she continued, “in  _ that _ state.” 

 

Zoe shook her head and smiled embarrassedly at Cordelia, moving toward the coffee pot as she spoke. “It’s no big deal, we’re all adults right?” 

 

Nodding, Cordelia began to stir again. “Right.” 

 

A fresh stack of banana pancakes on a plate and an anxious feeling settled in her stomach, Cordelia made her way up the stairs. She imagined walking in on Misty to the same scene as the night before, squeezing her eyes shut at the thought, she took a shuddering breath and stood at the door to their shared bedroom. 

 

Pushing open the door, she was relieved to see Misty still propped up against the pillows on their bed, music quietly floating through the air and a book in her hands. At the soft squeak of the door, Misty looked up and smiled brightly at Cordelia. 

 

“Here you go, sweetheart,” Cordelia said, handing the plate to Misty and climbing into bed next to her. The sheets underneath are no longer stained - Misty obviously changing them while Cordelia had been gone.  _ The mattress is,  _ Cordelia frowns, seeing the dark but almost unnoticeable stain underneath the now clean white sheets. Misty places the plate between them as soon as Cordelia settles, half of it on either of their thighs. At Cordelia’s glance up, at her rush to wave the gesture off, Misty gently reminds her - 

 

“Share with me?” It’s an innocent question, accompanied by the scrape of the fork along the porcelain as it cuts through fluffy pancakes and mushy bananas. “You need to keep your strength up, darlin’.”  

 

Her strength, of course. The entire house buzzes with the effects of a protection spell.  _ Her girls are keeping it up.  _ The thought sends both a jolt of graciousness and pity through her stomach. Misty must feel it too, feeding off all the magic of its occupants. They’re  _ safe  _ right now - from the very thing keeping them that way. Magic. 

 

“I need to fix this.” Cordelia states, and she lets Misty nudge a mouthful of breakfast against her lip, the sticky syrup only dripping  _ slightly  _ onto her chin. The swamp witch carefully shifts to better swipe her thumb against it and wipe it away. 

 

“ _ We  _ need to, ‘Delia.” Misty’s eyes are quiet serious, looking into her own. A murmured note that they’re a team -  _ together.  _  “Not right now, okay?” The silence drags then, between mute bites of food and gentle touches of comfort. 

 

Cordelia knows she should let it drop, let it go. They have tomorrow for this, they have time.  _ They have time.  _ She didn’t lose Misty last night. She’s damn well sure she’s never letting her being taken from her again. But she’s lost, and she’s scared. Cordelia’s eyes brim with unspilled tears, taking on a glassy quality as she watching Misty’s pick through to find all the banana slices. Taking a deep, quiet breath, Cordelia whispers, “Mrytle would know what to do.” 

 

The topic of Cordelia’s  _ mom -  _ not Fiona, but the woman who hugged her, who took her temperature, her fed her and bathed her - her  _ mom,  _ it sits in the air like the stale smell of moth balls would. “We could name her after her,” Misty offers with a tiny smile, and she runs her fingers over the bumps of Cordelia’s knuckles before using her hands to gesture around her head in an odd way, “I reckon it wouldn’t fit to well, the hair would be all off. Don’t you think?” 

 

That does earn a smile in return, and Cordelia even proposes, “The vocabulary, too.”

 

“Have you finished your list, ‘Dee?” Misty bites her lip, and for a moment Cordelia lets herself simply forget their troubles.  Lets herself get lost in the spark of excitement that glimmers across Misty’s tired blue eyes. The lists - Cordelia’s heart squeezes tightly. 

 

“Yeah, have you?” Cordelia inquires back. 

 

“Yes.” Misty smiles, it’s soft and sweet. Her hair is slightly stuck together with dried sweat, and she tilts her head toward the dresser across the room. “Can you get it for me, darlin’? In my top drawer?” 

 

The idea of using magic passes across her mind, but Cordelia sighs as she begrudgingly curls her toes in the sheets, not wanting to use such valuable power on a vain attempt to stay close to Misty right now. Finding the yellow sheet with the Cajun’s scribbles on it is easy, and settling back into bed is easier; plate placed on the nightstand and out of the way. Her own paper is in the nightstand drawer - much neater and written in cursive. 

 

“Okay, you go first.” Cordelia states - handing Misty her choices. The paper crinkles softly in her fingers as she holds it to read. Something like a blush, pink and rosy across Misty’s cheeks, turns her red as she says the first line outloud, 

 

“Stevie…”

Cordelia crinkles her nose, “A little obvious?” 

 

“I guess you’re right, your turn?” 

 

“Victoria?”

 

“People would call her Vicky.” Misty reminds, and her own lips tug down as she says it, not happy with the choice. “What about Rhiannon?”

 

“Are they all  _ Fleetwood Mac  _ names?” Cordelia teases, poking her fingers into Misty’s ribs to make her laugh. 

 

“There’s  _ one  _ that isn’t.” Misty tells her. The windows are open, but the August heat is in full swing, the fragrance of the protective wreaths blows into the room on soft warm breezes. Misty’s legs shift, rustling against the bed, and she drops her hand and the paper in it to rest on her bump. “Mallory.” 

 

“Mallory?” Cordelia perks up, and without even trying to, she reaches to intertwine her fingers with Misty’s. A smile pulls her lips, and her teeth show in a grin as she tells her wife, “Mallory is on my list, too.” 

 

“Really?” 

 

“Yes, It is.” There’s adorable excitement to Misty - eager about a mutual choice.  _ Mallory  _ had been a spur of the moment pick, as she stayed up in bed with Misty snoring next to her. Though the coven doesn’t know where the young witch had taken off to exempt a letter of goodbye and a parting wish to see each other again - no amount of  _ divination  _ can locate her. But Cordelia had picked the honoring title because- _ well,  _ because,

 

“She brought you back to me.” It tumbles from Cordelia’s lips, mumbled and quiet and backed by emotions too deep to convey with a simple sentence other than, “She  _ saved  _ you.”

 

A long, thoughtful minute passes. Misty rubs tiny circles through her shirt on her belly. 

 

“I love it.”

 

“Me too.” 

 

Misty looks down to her stomach, glances at Cordelia as she asks the baby, “How about it, Mallory?” 

 

A flutter of kicks is the answer given. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
